


Past Memories

by SlytherinDemigod18



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Canada (Hetalia), Brothers America & Canada (Hetalia), Canada is Vinland, Canadian Provinces (Hetalia) - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, GerIta if you squint, Historical Hetalia, Hurt/Comfort, I tried to be as historically accurate as possible, Mild Gore, Prucan if you squint, Scars, Seven years war, Spamano if you squint, Summit Series, Vimy Ridge, War of 1812, World War I, World War II, but you can still read it and ignore the ships and it won't make a difference, fruk if you squint, i promise the writing gets better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 05:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 72,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16696321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinDemigod18/pseuds/SlytherinDemigod18
Summary: When Canada is hit by a spell intended for America, his history will come to light and many will be surprised at what they see. Some memories are better left in the past.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first story on this account and on this website. It is something I actually wrote to help me study for my grade 10 Canadian History exam and when I read it to my sister, she was like 'this is so good. you should totally write more.' and one thing led to another and now you have this....masterpiece is too strong of a word. "Meh"sterpiece? We'll go with that. Anyways, all of the information here comes from my Canadian History textbook , so some of it might be biased, but I will try to see both sides of the story. Starting at chapter 2, the countries you see in Hetalia/the countries watching the memories will be referred to by their human names. If ever a country's name was not clear so I chose a fanon name, I will specify at the beginning of the chapter. Anyways, onto the story. I hope you like it!

For many, the past is not a complicated thing. There are no theories about who founded what or who settled where first. Most have gone by the same name for centuries, even if they got the privilege to add the title _empire_ with it. Some have been colonies, and other colonized. Most nations were surrounded by people from the moment they came into the world, never really having to stray from their customs, religions, and languages for hundreds, if not thousands of years. Canada was not so lucky.

Matthew Williams, personification of the country called Canada, was wishing he had stayed home that day instead of going to the meeting. As usual, they weren't getting anything done and Matthew was wondering why he even bothered to come to the World Conference anyways. The only thing it succeeded in doing was lowering his self-esteem every time he wasn't noticed. He slumped in his seat and observed his fellow nations. America and England were arguing again, probably about something trivial, while France watched on in amusement. The Italies were as opposite as could be. Feliciano was hugging Germany and talking about pasta or some other nonsense, while Lovino was glowering at Spain after a repeated attempt for a kiss. Canada's gaze continued to roam the room. Japan was talking quietly with Hungary, gesturing to a manga that laid on the table in front of them. And the Nordics... Canada's breath hitched.

" _Storebror, why must you and the others leave?" A small blond child looked up at a man dressed in a fur coat and armor._

" _Because Lille Bjørn," It wasn't until the person spoke that it became evident that it wasn't a man, but a teen dressed like a viking. The viking ruffled the light blond hair upon the child's head. "We have to get back to our own countries. But not to worry. We shall come back to get you two years hence the next moon wanes."_

_A cry from the nearby ship caused the viking's head to snap up and he responded rapidly in a language the child had only learn pieces of. "Farvel lille bror, I have to go. Sverige is about to set the ship to sea."_

_The child stood there on the beach for hours, long after the ship left, waiting for some sign that his storebror would come back. But he never came._

Canada shook his head rapidly to get rid of the distant memories that he'd almost forgotten. The Nordics were still goofing off, except for Iceland who was talking with Hong Kong, and Sweden, who never seemed to get capable of any emotion on his stoic face.

"Dude!" America's shout caught Canada's attention and he looked over to where his brother was standing up with his hands on the table in anger. "The Hero cannot be cute as a kid. He has to be strong and powerful." Alfred flexed his arms like a mock wrestler.

England snorted. "I raised you, you little wanker. Let me tell you this. Had you _not_ been cute, I probably would have killed you soon after finding you. Bloody annoying child you were."

"Ha!" America barked. "Where's your proof old man?"

"Proof? You want proof?" England took out his spellbook. "I'll give you proof."

He started chanting in Latin and Canada noticed how terrified his brother looked. No doubt he was scared of Arthur's messed up spells and accidents. Matthew sighed and decided he better put a stop to it.

"Arthur."

England continued chanting.

"Arthur!"

"Ostende mihi praeter gentis nomine Ego et pater de vobis…" Arthur jumped when Canada tapped his shoulder. "Huh, what? Matthew!"

With a flash, the room disappeared in smoke.


	2. Vikings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nations find themselves in a strange place. Where and when they are, only Canada knows.

Canada hit the ground with a _thump_. He took a moment to catch his breath, looking up at the night sky and trying to figure out the constellations like he did when he was younger. Wait, _constellations_? _Night sky_? He looked at his surroundings and sucked in a breath. In a daze, he walked over to a tree and looked past it at the beach ahead.

"Tabarnak." He muttered at the scene he saw.

Meanwhile, the other countries were trying to figure out where they were.

"Vhat happened? Does anyone know vhere ve are?" Germany helped Italy up off the ground and turned to look at his fellow nations.

Matthew walked back to the other nations and tried to interrupt. "Guys…"

"It was that bastardo." Romano said. "If he would just stop fooling around with that magic of his, we wouldn't be in this situation in the first place."

England huffed. "All I was going to do was show Alfred memories of when he was a small lad to prove a point. I don't know how, but this isn't what was supposed to happen."

"Guys, I know…"

"But _mon cher_ , it did happen, so you must find a way to reverse it."

"I'm working on it, you bloody frog.''

"WOULD YOU ALL JUST LISTEN TO ME?"

All eyes turned to Canada, who blushed. "Sorry I yelled, but I couldn't get your attention any other way." He cleared his throat and fiddled with the hem of his sweater. "I know where we are."

That got the other's attention.

"Mattie, bro, why didn't you tell us that in the first place?" America asked.

"I tried." He muttered. "Anyways, if my suspicions are correct, the year is 1000 AD and we're on the coast of Newfoundland."

"Ve~ Why would we be there?" asked Italy.

Canada just gestured for the others to follow him through the woods. Exchanging puzzled expressions, the nations obliged. When they passed the last rock, they all let out small gasps of surprise.

The deep blue water shone like crystals were being reflected off it's surface. It was the same colour as the sky at sunset, right before the last of the blue disappears from the horizon for the night. It's water's teemed with fish, so much that you could probably just reach in and pick one right up with your hands. Different sized rocks broke the incoming waves as they kissed the shoreline, turning the skinny stone beaches a darker colour. Almost instantaneously, the sand gave way to grassy fields and cliffs that towered above the sea. Dotting the grass were wildflowers, bent sideways by the ever blowing wind that tormented the coastal regions. In all, it was a beautiful place, one that would be painting-worthy, but that was not what stopped the nations in their tracks. No, it was the ship that was beached upon the shore.

The red and white striped sail fluttered in the wind as the ship creaked to a halt in the stones of the beach. It was a longship made from large planks of wood with a fearsome dragon's head jutting out from the prow as if to say ' _don't you dare come any closer or you will be killed_ '. The rowers were all burly looking men whose arms were big enough to snap logs in half and whose beards looked like they'd never been shaved in their lives. Every one of them was armed with either a sword or axe or both attached at the hip.

"Vikings." breathed Prussia.

Italy squeaked in fear and hid behind Germany.

Canada walked over and laid a hand on his shoulder. "If I'm right about what this is, they can't see or hurt you." he said softly.

His attention was grabbed once more by the small sound of astonishment that came from Sweden. Normally, the serious man made no sound, but as soon as Matthew looked at the ship, he understood why. Three young men, teenagers really, had just jumped from the ship.

The teens were all blond-haired, though two had blue eyes while the eyes of the other were purple. They were all dressed in simple woolen tunics and pants, though they were worn and filthy, as if they hadn't been changed in a while. The boots reached at mid-calf and were lined with fur both on the outside and inside. They wore sheepskin vests complete with a grey or brown cloak tied around their shoulders. Each carried a different weapon. The blond with the blue eyes and the spiky hair carried an axe that seemed to big for the boy, but he carried it with the ease of a seasoned warrior. The purple eyed child has silky hair and a shield on one arm and he held a short sword in the other, though he did seem to have a staff of some sort strapped to his back. The last boy had blue eyes and an emotionless face, though his eyes seemed to light up whenever he looked towards his friends. He wielded a sword much larger than the one in his companion's hand, but he too seemed comfortable with the weight it brought in his hand. Canada knew why everyone looked so stunned. The boys were none other than Denmark, Norway, and Sweden.

"Vad fan händer?" asked Sweden, his eye twitching. "Where are we? I don't remember landing at any place that resembles this."

Canada came and stood beside him. "Welcome to the discovery of Vinland."


	3. Birth of a Nation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mathias, Lukas, and Berwald have found something, not realizing their actions will create the birth of colony - one that would grow up to be a formidable nation one day. But before that, Matthew was just a child. Welcome to the discovery of Vinland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the people who will undoubtedly tell me that Vinland wasn't just in Canada, I know. There is believed to have been many different Vinlands over the ages in both America and Canada. However, the one I am focusing on is the Norse settlement of Newfoundland near where L'Anse aux Meadows is.

The nations of the world watched in awe as the Nordics sat next to a campfire, basking in the flickering light of it's flames. A few days seemed to have passed in the memory if the semi-permanent viking settlement was anything to go by. Mathias was laughing at something Lukas said, though he seemed to be the only one who found it funny. All of a sudden, he stopped and his head snapped up.

"Wha-"

Berwald interrupted Lukas before he could say anything else. "Hush, just listen."

Mathias crept closer to the edge of the woods, only feet from where the present nations stood watching. He unsheathed his axe and spun it in his hand to readjust his grip. Then, without a warning, his hand shot into the brush and pulled out...a child.

The viking was so surprised, he almost dropped his weapon. The boy looked to be about two years old and was dressed in the clothes of a native warrior. Leather pants decorated with beads gave way to moccasin-covered feet. His chest was bare and pale. The boy's cream coloured skin was free of any blemishes or scars and he wore only a necklace of animal claws around his neck. His face was painted in red paint under his purple eyes and the blond hair that came down to his shoulders in soft waves was braided with feathers. The child let out a battle cry and kicked the Dane right between his legs.

France burst out laughing. "Oh mon ami, he got you good."

Mathias let out a stream of curses that caused Norway to wack Denmark around the head.

"Ow. Norge, seriously, that hurts."

"Good." Norway harrumphed and turned back to the scene in front of them. "Now watch."

Canada sighed. He had a feeling that his past wouldn't be kept a secret anymore. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Lukas sniggered over at the campfire. "You deserved it, scaring the babe like that."

"I am not...a babe. I am... a...warrior...among my people." The halting norse came from the child.

Mathias stumbled back in shock. "Where did you learn to speak our language."

The child snorted. "Language...was easy. Men speak by...fire...I listen."

Berwald stood up and put a hand on the native's shoulder and guided him to the fireside. "How about you come and join us. It is not safe for a babe to wander alone at night - even if they do claim to be a warrior."

The native put the tomahawk that they hadn't noticed before back on his belt. He sat himself next to Lukas and began tearing at a piece of cod. Mathias came out of his daze and turned to the boy who didn't look like he could be older than two. "What's your name? I'm Mathias. The one with the cross in his hair is Lukas and the serious guy over there is Berwald."

"My people...call me-" The child let out a sting of words in a language the vikings couldn't understand. "It means... _Little Bear_ because...I am as...fierce as one."

Mathias raised his eyebrows. "Well then _Lille Bjørn_ , I shall give you a proper name." He pretended to think. "I name you Matthew."

The child peeled a strip of scales away from the cod and stuffed the piece in his mouth with his slightly pudgy hand, letting the juices run down his lips as he chewed and thought. Finally, he swallowed and nodded his consent at the name.

The nations watching were silent for several minutes before Australia spoke. "Is that you mate?"

With slight hesitation, Canada nodded. Suddenly, he let out a surprised squeak as someone grabbed him from behind. He turned to find Denmark, Norway and Sweden with their hands on his shoulders.

"Canada," Sweden's voice was a low rumble as he spoke. "I hope you can forgive us for leaving you. The maps were drawn badly and the currents and storms stopped-"

"What Sweden is trying to say." Norway said. "Is that we wanted to come back, we just _couldn't_."

Canada shrugged and buried his face in Mr. Kumajiro's fur. He didn't trust himself to speak. He feared that if he did, the emotions he had tried for so long to hide would come out.

Denmark ruffled his hair. "So what has by little brother been up to these past centuries? What did I miss?"

Canada started to answer but England interrupted. "You'll find out soon enough. I found why the spell went wrong. Now instead of watching cute parts of the lad's life, we have to view _all_ of it."

The shy purple eyed nation let out a string of french curses that made France take a step back. "Mathieu! I will not have that kind of language coming out of your mouth."

"Desolé Papa. But you swear just as much as I do."

"That's not the point."

"Amigos." said Spain. "Can we just continue to watch the memories?"

They turned back towards the campfire, now very aware that they were all intruders in someone's privacy.

Lukas snorted. "Very modest naming the child after yourself."

"What? He likes the name." Mathias grinned. "Besides, it's a good name for a strong warrior."

His tone held a slight mocking edge to it, like he didn't believe Matthew's story. Matthew looked up and narrowed his eyes, drawing his tomahawk and pointing it at the Dane in challenge. Though he tried very hard to appear menacing, it was hard to take him seriously with puffed out cheeks and a greased stained face.

Berwald bent down and plucked the weapon out of Matthew's hands. "No sharp objects for you. At least, not until tomorrow when there is light and we can see the ground to make sure you don't trip over something and impale yourself with this."

Matthew scowled and crossed his arms, protesting loudly in his native language. He was a warrior, why couldn't they understand that?

Lukas leaned over and studied the weapon. "What is this? Is it an axe?"

"It is a…" Matthew searched for the answer. "Tomahawk. I made...it. It's...my weapon." He suddenly let out a large yawn and blinked a few times, trying to keep his eyes from closing.

In an instant, he found himself scooped up into Mathias's arms, the viking carrying him to a place where they had several cloth and timber-framed tents set up in a clearing in the forest, away from the battering winds that came off the sea. He set the boy down on some furs and covered him with his cloak "You can stay here tonight lille bror. Tomorrow, we'll take you back to your tribe. I'm sure your kin are worried about you."


	4. Farvel Vinland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The vikings are leaving and Matthew can't come with them. Poor Matthew!

Surprisingly, in the morning, Matthew made no attempts to leave.

"My place is...with you." he said. "I am what you...now call...Vinland."

That was fine with the Nordics. In the short time the young colony had been with them, they'd grown quite fond of the blond-haired child.

"But won't your kin be worried when you don't come back?" asked Lukas.

"No. I wander from tribe to tribe...alone, while my….mother takes care...of the land and...the people."

Matthew looked a little crestfallen when he mentioned his mother, but he soon fixed his eyes on Berwald's sword. "What is that?"

The man glanced down at his belt in bewilderment. "It's a sword. Do you not have them here?"

Without answering, Matthew reached for the sheathed weapon, only to be stopped by Mathias.

Germany raised an eyebrow. "Eager child, were we?"

"I had never seen a weapon of that sort before." Canada said, a blush blooming across his cheeks. "The item we had that was closest to it was a sort of knife, but that clearly wasn't one."

Russia sighed. "Da, I remember those days. Back when the world was unknown and new to us, everything was interesting."

"Matthew, it is not a toy for little boys to play with." said Mathias.

The colony pouted so much, Mathias relented. "Fine, but first, we have to teach you how to use one without killing yourself. Then you might get your own big sword like that one."

Matthew huffed, but nodded. He reached for the sword again, this time to be stopped by Berwald. The large teen hoisted Matthew up onto his shoulder and started back towards the ship. "We'll get you something else to train with first." Once down at the main camp, he called out to someone. "Sigurd!"

A tall viking with an enormous red mane decorating his head stepped out of a tent. "Ja?"

"Fetch from the ship the smallest sword you can find and bring it out here."

"Alright, but who's the babe?" Sigurd said, eyeing Matthew who was perched atop the other viking's shoulders.

"That's none of your-" Berwald was about to say more, but Matthew jumped down from his shoulders and kicked the redhead in the shin.

Sigurd barked out a curse as he bent down to rub his bruised leg. "By Odin child! What is the matter with you?"

"I am a...warrior, not a babe!"

America let out a laugh. "Geez bro, sensitive topic much?"

Canada buried his face in Kumajiro's fur and mumbled. "I guess I was used to being treated as a warrior and a man. I was upset when they insisted on treating me the way I looked."

"Birdie," said Prussia, grabbing the attention of the other countries. "Vhere did all zhat fire go? You used to be so…" He pointed at the Canada in the memory. "And now you're just…" He gestured to the current Canada in bewilderment.

"Bruder, I would advise you not to underestimate him." said Germany with a shudder. "You remember what happened at the ridge, right?"

Prussia's arrogant expression flickered slightly, showing an emotion most nations didn't understand, before his smile came back on. "Ja West, I remember."

"What are you guys-"

Spain was interrupted by Italy, who said. "Vee~ Can we all get back to watching the memories, and then maybe we can make pasta after?"

"Here you go Berwald." said Sigurd. He emerged from the hull of the ship, holding in his hand a small length of sharpened steel with a wooden hilt and a leather grip. The pommel was simply made of steel, but unlike the blade of the sword, had runes engraved in it.

Lukas took the sword and handed it to Matthew. "Here, take good care of it."

Matthew eagerly reached for the sword and swung it in a circle to test the weight.

"Woah," said Mathias, who had to step back to avoid the point of the blade. "Don't swing it like that. In fact, don't swing it at all until we teach you how to."

"Fine." said Matthew, too occupied with admiring the sword to look up. "Will you teach...me _now_?

Berwald gave a small laugh. It was barely more than a chuckle, but it caused his companions to look at him in surprise. "Alright. Come with us and we'll show you how to use the sword properly."

oO0Oo

In the end, it took them three weeks to teach the colony how to use a sword. By that time, the cold of winter had set in and things weren't looking good for the viking settlement. In the month they had been there, five men had died from attacks by the indigenous tribes that lived in the area or from exposure and malnutrition.

Matthew woke in the middle of the night to hushed voices outside his tent. Rubbing the sleep out of his violet eyes, he sat up and pushed the furs from his legs. He crawled over to the tent opening and peeked outside, straining his eyes to make out the figures visible in the fire's flickering light. Then, he caught sight of a large axe resting beside one of the seated figures and his eyebrows furrowed. What was storebror doing out so late at night?

Matthew slipped out of the tent and crawled closer to the fire, keeping silent by using the techniques his mother had taught him. Soon, the whispers became evident.

"-just stay with these conditions."

Mathias, Lukas, and Berwald were arguing with Sigurd.

"With all due respect skirl." Lukas was saying. "We can't-."

"That's right Lukas, I am your skirl." Sigurd was struggling to keep his voice even. "So what I say goes. We _will_ leave Vinland come dawn's light. It's not worth it to stay here. Aside from fish, which we have plenty of back home, this place doesn't offer us anything. It's just a land of savages, rain and snow."

Matthew muffled his cry with his fist. Surely that wasn't what the rest of them thought, right?

France sighed and pulled Canada into his arms, but Canada didn't say anything. He just looked down at his feet, not meeting anyone's gaze.

"Canada." Denmark said. "Canada, we're sorry. Sigurd's opinion is not ours."

"It's okay." Canada looked up, a smile plastered on his face, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I didn't like him very much."

England narrowed his eyes. Canada didn't really give any indication on whether or not he forgave the Nordics.

"Fine." grumbled Berwald. "We'll pack up camp."

With a sob, Matthew flew back into the tent just as his big brothers entered. When they sat down next to him, he drew his knees up to his chin and whimpered. "Are you really going to go back to your homelands? Are you going to leave me behind?"

"Your Norse is improving very quickly Lille Bjørn." said Lukas.

"You didn't answer my question." Matthew said softly.

With a sigh, Mathias scooted over and pulled the child into his arms. "Yes, we are leaving in the morning, and no, we can't bring you with us. Your home is here."

"My home is with you!" cried the colony before dissolving into tears.

"Shh," Mathias rocked his little brother back and forth. "We'll come back to Vinland someday and maybe we'll even bring Tino and Emil with us. Emil has a bird he named Mr. Puffin that I think you would like. I swear though, that bird has it out for me. Everytime he sees me, he tries to bite my finger off."

Despite the sadness of the situation, Iceland snickered. Mr. Puffin really did not like Denmark. Or anyone other than him for that matter.

Matthew giggled and blinked tears away from his tired eyes. "What else is there at your home?"

"Well, let's see." said Mathias. "Where we live, the weather is warm during the winter, but if you go further up north, it gets really cold. I like traveling up there though, because the water from the snow melts are the sweetest things you will ever taste."

"My favorite part of my country is the fjords." said Lukas. "With the cliffs on either side of the inlet, you feel like you're in a place separated from the rest of the world with the wilds as your only companions."

Berwald's deep voice came from somewhere out of Matthew's vision. "I like the valleys and the forests. They always remind me of the unknown that's still out there in the world, even if I am left at home. It reminds me that while people may come and go, the land is forever."

Slowly, the voices faded into nothingness as darkness overcame Matthew.

oO0Oo

When Matthew woke, his brothers were gone. Panic seized him momentarily as he wondered if they had left without saying goodbye. Then he heard the brutish shouting of the vikings as they broke camp and sighed with relief. They hadn't left yet, he still had time. The blond threw on a tunic that Lukas had given him. It was old, dirty, and frayed from where the viking had cut it to make it short enough for the child, but it was warm and safe, but more importantly, it smelled like his storebror. Matthew adjusted the cord he wore as a belt and ran out of the tent and into the clearing. He stopped abruptly when he noticed they were waiting for him.

"Come on Matthew, don't you want to give your big brothers a hug before we leave?" Mathias held out his arms, a smile playing on his face and dancing in his eyes as the colony leapt into the arms of his brothers.

The hugged him tight and Matthew tried to breath in their scents so he would never forget them. His storebrors smelled of leather and steel and smoke and sweat, but most importantly, they smelled of family and comfort. "Please don't leave me." Matthew whispered against Mathias's chest. Berwald and Lukas gave one final goodbye and left the two to their privacy and went to check on the ship and the crew.

Mathias crouched down to Matthew's eye level and put his hands on Matthew's shoulders. "Don't worry Lille Bjørn, we'll be back. We just have to leave for a little while."

"But storebror, _why_ must you and Lukas and Berwald leave? Why can't you stay?" The blond wiped quickly at the tears that were starting to form in his eyes.

Mathias ruffled Matthew's hair. "Because, we can't stay at Vinland for a long time. We weren't prepared to stay the winter, and besides, we have to get back to run our own countries."

Matthew sniffed again and Mathias hurried on. "But that doesn't mean you won't see us again. We'll come back for you."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Denmark and the other Nordics winced. That was a promise they weren't able to keep. They watched as Matthew struggled to hide his tears, but Canada only seemed to have an impassive face, like he had given up hope long ago that they would come back and be part of his life again.

"Mathias! We're leaving!"

Mathias's head shot up and he yelled at the other man to wait before turning his attention back to his lille bror. "We don't have much time, but I want to give you this." From his belt, he produced a knife. "I know you weren't allowed to keep the sword, so we decided to give this to you instead."

The viking unsheathed the blade, letting the engraved steel sparkle in the early morning sun. "On the blade are the runes of Tyr and Odin, so may you forever have success in battle."

Another, more urgent cry came from the ship. Mathias placed one last kiss on the head of his colony and ran for the beach, climbing on to the ship just as it reached deep waters.

"Farvel Storebrors! Come again soon." The young colony yelled into the wind, running to the shoreline to catch one last glimpse of the red and white flag before it disappeared over the horizon. Once the ship was out of sight, he sank to his knees in the surf. He voice was barely a whisper as tears pooled onto the blue steel of the knife that he held in his hand. "Don't leave me."


	5. Native America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing - drum roll, please - NATIVE AMERICA!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Native America is Matthew and Alfred's mother, but I'm too lazy to think up a name for her, so she will just be referred to as 'Native America'. She doesn't have a current country, so you shouldn't confuse her as a present nation. I

Silence reigned as the nations slowly registered what the memories had just shown them.

"Canada…" For once, America seemed to be at a loss for words. "I-I knew you were upset about them leaving, but I didn't know it affected you that much."

England turned to America. "You knew about this and never told anyone?"

"He asked me to keep it a secret and said that he was over them. Besides," America shrugged. "I'd be a hypocrite if I did that. Archaeologists still aren't sure of my exact connection to the vikings, so my memories are a bit fuzzy, but I do remember a tall stern man and a short happy man declaring that I was their colony. The stern one mentioned something about me being to far south to be Vinland, but I never made the connection that I was a viking colony until artifacts were discovered on my coast."

Behind the North American Twins, several nations broke down into tears.

"Listen, we never meant to not come back." Denmark started, his hands up in a placating gesture. "We just got-"

_CRACK!_

He was cut off by America's fist connecting with his nose. Denmark's head snapped back with the force of a World Superpower behind the punch, spraying blood everywhere.

Norway ran to Denmark's side and tried to help him up from the ground, but was stopped when swung his fist at his friend again. "I don't care about international relations. If you hurt my big brother I'll-"

"America!"

America turned to see Canada grabbing his elbow. "If you want to hurt them for anything, it should be because they left you behind, not because of me. I don't need your protection. You know by now that I can take care of myself."

"Yeah," Alfred said, absentmindedly rubbing his collarbone. "But I don't really remember them, so they were never really a part of my life."

"We're really sorry." said Sweden. "We really did try to come back, it just didn't work out. Please, can you give us another chance?"

France scowled. "It seems as though Canada and America don't want anything to do with you guys, and I don't blame them, so just stop trying before you make things worse for yourselves."

"But-"

"Oi!" England got everyone's attention. "The memories are still playing and you wankers are going make make us miss the next one."

"Can we talk about this after the memories are done?" pleaded Finland.

"Maybe." said America.

The nations turned back to watching the memories, but still cast uneasy glances at the Nordics and the North American Twins.

Time seemed to have passed since the Nordics left Vinland. The nations watched as Matthew crept through the forest and they were unnerved at how quiet his footfalls were. Compared to the bumbling vikings, Matthew was almost silent in the peaceful forest. He was back in the clothing of his people, but now he wore longer pants, a tunic, and boots. On his back was a quiver of arrows and in his hand he held a small bow. The autumn leaves crunched lightly under his feet at he stalked through the woods and when he breathed, a small puff of breath was visible in the chilled air. He stopped behind a tree a few yards from what appeared to be a log.

"Canada, what are you doing?" asked England.

"You'll see." said Canada, giving a small smile.

Matthew reached around his back and nocked and arrow on his bowstring. Pursing his lips, he let out a piercing whistle that rang through the silent forest. Something jumped out from behind the log; a rabbit, coat halfway between white and brown as it changed to match the seasons. Matthew drew back his bowstring and was about to fire when something jumped on him and knocked his over to the side. Matthew whirled around, hand reaching for the Nordic's knife he kept at his belt, but relaxed when he recognized the figure.

"Al? What are you doing here? I thought you were with Mother. It's too cold for you to stay up here for long."

A boy who looked like Matthew grinned, his azure blue eyes sparkling and his cowlick quivering in the breeze. "Mother and I decided to come and spend the winter with you. If the cold becomes a problem, we can just go further south for awhile."

"Is that you, Amerika?" asked Russia.

"Yeah, I was an adorable little guy. Me and Canada-"

"Canada and I," interrupted England. "Stop butchering the Queen's language.

America rolled his eyes. " _Canada and I_ used to take turns having our mother come down to where we lived. I was never quite good with cold weather, while Canada loved it, so I spent most of my time with the tribes in the south and he stayed in the north."

"That's great!" Matthew went to hug his brother. I've missed you."

"Of course you missed me, I'm your little brother. It's kind of a rule that I have to be missed." He grinned again. "What's for dinner?"

Matthew frowned slightly. "That rabbit _was_ dinner. You chased it away so now I have to find a new one."

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure we can find something on the way back. Let's get going though, Mother said to be back before dark and the sun is already starting to set."

True to Alfred's prediction, by the time they got back to the camp they had several canadian geese that they had shot while they sat on a lake for a drink before their migration. Matthew walked into the camp, passing a few other children who called out to him as he walked by. He waved to them and asked if they had seen his mother. They pointed ahead of him and he and Alfred thanked them.

Matthew took a deep breath and pushed the flap away from the tent. "Mother?"

"I'm here Matthew."

Matthew's moccasin covered feet padded against the dirt as he handed the geese to his brother and jumped into his mother's arms. Her tan arms wrapped around him and pulled Matthew against her chest, squeezing him in her embrace. After a few moments, she let go and held him at arms length.

"You've gotten taller since I last saw you. You also look thinner." She narrowed her eyes. "Have you been eating properly?"

Matthew giggled. "Yes Mother."

The Chief came up beside them. Matthew had been so focused on his mother, hadn't even noticed that the man was there.

"The boy is a good fighter and hunter, but there is something strange. Unlike the other children, he hasn't changed much since you asked us to watch over him last year."

Matthew, Alfred, and Native America exchanged nervous glances. Had the Chief found out their secrets?

"Do not worry." said Native America. "We shall be gone after the first thaw. Perhaps even before then."

The Chief cast a worrying look at the twins. "I admit, I was uncertain about the boy, he looks too much like those-"

He said a word that the nations didn't recognize, but from Canada and America's winces, it was something very unflattering about the vikings.

"But he has proven his worth. You are permitted to stay with us for the winter, but I am afraid that once the snow is gone, we will leave this place and the tribe will not be able to support three more people with us."

Native America nodded her head. "Understood. Come along children, we must set up a place to stay before nightfall."

Alfred took her hand as she led him out of the tent. "But why _before_ nightfall? Why not after?"

"Because, the spirits haunt the darkness looking for little boys who don't have a bed so the spirits can eat them. And besides," Native America poked Alfred in the cheek, causing him to laugh and squirm to try to get away from the tickling. "If the tent is not set up before nightfall, we cannot make a fire, and do you know what that means? It means that you don't get any roast goose."

The twins shrieked and ran out of the tent and rushed to put up the tepee, tripping over the poles and hide cover as they did so.

Several of the nations watching laughed as Alfred spun around with a pole and nearly took off Matthew's head.

Native America stood in the entrance of the tent, watching her sons with a smile on her face. "I better go help them before they hurt themselves." she turned back to the Chief. "Thank you for letting us stay here."

The Chief only nodded his head in acknowledgement.

oO0Oo

Several seemed to have passed in the next memory. Snow drifted down lightly and settle down softly on the frosted ground. Matthew and Alfred sat on a large rock in the forest, carving designs into the blocks of wood they held in their hands. Matthew dug his knife into the wood and chipped off a piece. It had been Matthew's idea. He said he had seen these kind of totems carved by his tribes on the coast and he wanted to try and carve smaller ones for their mother.

"Do you think she'll like these?" asked Alfred, carving a crudely shaped egale into his.

"I think Mother will like anything we give her." said Matthew, not taking his eyes off the bear he was shaping in the wood.

"You're probably right."

"If it isn't the unwanted boys."

The twins flinched as several boys came up behind them. All of the other boys were bigger, older, and stronger than Matthew and Alfred.

"I heard that they roam from place to place because nobody wants them." said one boy.

"No," said another. "I heard that it's because they're _pale faced demons_."

Matthew flinched again. Clearly, they called him that a lot. "We're not demons!" he squeaked out.

"Of course you are." said the boy who was clearly the leader. "Where else would you have gotten this strange weapon."

The Nordics growled as he plucked the knife they had given Canada out of Matthew's hand.

"Hey! Give that back!" Matthew cried out, reaching for his knife. "It was a gift from my brothers!"

The leader twirled the knife around and inspected it. "Are these markings the demon language? Do they contain any magic?"

"No!"

The leader ignored Matthew's shout. "Only one way to find out."

Without hesitating, he swiped the knife across Matthew's outstretched arm.

Matthew cried out in pain and Alfred surged forwards, but as they watched, the wound slowly healed. The blood stopped flowing out of the wound and the cut slowly healed until it disappeared completely.

"Oh mon Dieu." said France. "That is not good."

"No shit Sherlock." said England, whirling around to look at his 'sons'. "Please tell me you took care of it. Tell me you got your mother to erase his memory with her nation abilities."

America and Canada paled.

"Um," said America. "We...took care of it."

The nations sighed in relief and turned back to watching the memories.

The leader stumbled back in shock. "Wha- _Demon_." he growled, lunging at Matthew.

Faster than the nations could process, the three boys were on the ground and Alfred was standing over them, breathing hard. It was unnerving to see a boy with the appearance of a two year old take down kids at least four times his age. Everyone watched as blood slowly pooled from the leader's head.

"Al!" Matthew cried. "You didn't have to _kill_ them!"

Just as he said that, the leader of the gang stirred. "What happened, why are we here?" He looked up groggily at Matthew. "Were we attacked?"

"Um, yeah. There was a bear. We found you guys like this."

The eldest smiled stupidly and collapsed back to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs.

"What are we going to do, Al?" Matthew stumbled over the their attackers and felt for a pulse, breathing a sigh of relief when he found it.

All of the nations watching let out the breaths they hadn't noticed they were holding. England turned to his former charge.

"America, why did you do that?" England voice was deadly calm and held the reminder of his former empire's power and majesty.

"I-I-um, let's continue watching the memories!" He yelled, deflecting the question.

Alfred walked back with Matthew's knife in hand and gave it back to him. "We'll just go back to the camp and say we found them like this. We leave out the part where we did this to them. Easy."

Matthew sighed. "Are you ever going to learn that violence isn't the answer?"

Alfred snorted. "Says the guy who would go crazy when someone called him a child."

Matthew's expression darkened. "That was a long time ago. I'm not the same person I was back then."

"Whatever." Alfred shrugged one of the boys onto his back and picked the other up in his arms. "Get the last one."

Matthew put the last boy over one shoulder, giving him room to use his tomahawk if a threat arose.

' _Mother is going to be so mad_.' thought Matthew as the made the trek back over the streams and rocks to the open valley where their camp was situated.

"Matthew! Alfred! Where wer-" Native America stopped short as she saw what they were carrying. She turned and yelled for the Chief and the Medicine Woman. Native America quickly took the unconscious bodies of her people off of her sons and laid them down gently on the ground before enveloping her sons in an embrace.

"Mother." Matthew whispered. "They found out. I'm so sorry."

Native America pulled away quickly, trying to hide her shock. "Do they remember…."

Matthew shook his head. "Alfred took care of that."

Their mother let her gaze drift over to where the three boys were being tended too and her mouth formed a small 'o' of understanding.

Suddenly a shout came from the Chief. "Did you do this to my boys?"

Matthew suddenly looked down at the bloodstain knife and tried to hide it from him, but the Chief noticed the movement. In one swift movement, he snatched the knife from Matthew's hand and inspected the blade. The Chief took one look at the runes carved into the steel and dropped the knife in the dusting of snow on the ground. Matthew scrambled to pick it up and wipe the blood and snow off before sheathing it.

"You-" He seems at a loss for words.

"It was me." Alfred stepped up. "I threw them against a rock. It wasn't Mattie."

The Chief's eyes hardened. "Whatever the case, I cannot allow you to stay in my tribe. You will leave immediately."

Native America nodded. "Of course. We will be gone now."

As they were dragged out of the camp, Matthew took one last look at the destruction he and his brother had caused. He vowed then that he would never harm another person again and instead keep the peace.


	6. Polar Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years after the incident with the tribe they were kicked out of, Matthew, Alfred, and their mother are in the Canadian arctic and come face to face with a fearsome predator.

The wind howled and snow whirled around the small family, turning the late afternoon into a whirlwind of blinding white. The nations watching couldn't make out much more than three fur-clad figures truding towards a small snow rise in the distance. One of the figures lifted their head and Matthew's face became visible. His cheeks were pink and his eyes were watering from the constant battering of the freezing wind. His cold cheeks and chapped lips broke into a smile when he saw the mound of snow that was now just a few hundred yards away. The blond elbowed the person walking next to him and Alfred looked up. He had his hands tucked in his armpits in an attempt to preserve body heat and he was shivering uncontrollably. His nose was running and the normally azure blue eyes were dim with exhaustion and cold.

"America, are you alright?" asked England.

His former charge let out a booming laugh. "Yeah, dude! I just really don't like cold temperatures, I thought I told you guys that."

Canada jumped as his brother slung an arm around his shoulder. "On the other hand, the Canuck here loves the arctic."

"Vee~" Italy was now swinging off Germany's arm. "How long is this after the last memory?"

Canada thought about that for a second. "Well, considering we're back in my country _and_ in the tundra, which we only go to every couple of decades, it would be about…" Canada's expression was somewhere else as he tried to remember the year. "Probably about 1380."

France smiled and rubbed his hand together in excitement. "Soon you're discovered by me!"

Canada smiled, but didn't look overly enthusiastic. He would have to remember _that_ and _that_ was something he had hoped to forget.

The twins in the memory raced towards the snow mound, which the nations soon realized was an igloo, and crawled inside. Panting slightly, Matthew pushed the parka's hood off his head and looked around the igloo. There was a hole in the roof for the smoke from the fire that had yet to be started to escape the house. Furs lined the back of the igloo for a sleeping space and ceramic pots and smoked food were carefully arranged in a corner.

"Come on Al, let's go play!" Matthew seemed to have regained all his energy after stepping into the igloo, but Alfred still stood shaking even out of the wind. Native America entered the igloo and walked over to Alfred. She helped him take off his wet and cold parka and get into dry ones. Once that was done, she turned to her other son.

"Matthew, I don't want you boys playing in the storm now, but if you want to help, you can collect wood and get a fire started."

The purple-eyed boy nodded and ran out of the igloo. Matthew entered back into the blizzard and shielded his arms against the wind and cold flakes that still seemed to hit him no matter what he did. Stumbling through the deep snow, he ran towards a dead bush, perfect for a fire. Running a bit quicker, he tripped over something hard and fell in the snow. Rolling over onto his back, Matthew looked at the thing he had tripped over and screamed. Looming over him, blocking out the sun was a massive polar bear.

Russia let out a curse. He'd run into polar bears before and they were dangerous predators. "Kanada, how did you come out unharmed?"

Canada gave an awkward smile. "You'll find out soon."

Matthew let out a scream that pierced the howling winds and echoed through the tundra. The polar bear roared, sending slobber flying into Matthew's face. France made a move to step in front of Matthew, as if to shield him, but England put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. "Remember," said England. "We're not really here. We're just spirits existing in a memory."

France deflated and stepped back. The nations watched as Matthew scrambled backwards, fumbling for the knife at his belt. The small nation held it in front of him shakley as the polar bear lumbered towards him. Fear was evident in his purple eyes and he was trembling so hard he was having a hard time keeping hold of the weapon.

The Nordics, especially the ones who had found Canada, were having mixed feelings. On one hand, they were delighted to see that Matthew had kept the knife in such good condition even after all those years, but on the other hand, Matthew's attitude and emotional composure was so different from the boy they had seen in the memories only a while ago. The Matthew the had known was a warrior and was strong and fearless, but this Matthew seemed to be the exact opposite. Had their leaving really affected the child that much? Did Matthew think he wasn't worthy to be strong and important because the people who had been his family had left him?

"Please." Matthew whispered, begging with the predator. "Please. Let me leave. _Please_."

The bear roared again and Matthew closed his eyes, waiting for those powerful jaws to clamp down on him. But they never came. The roar turned into a strangled whimper as something large and heavy hit the ground in front of Matthew with a heavy _THUMP._

"Open your eyes, child. You are safe now."

Matthew knew that voice. Slowly, he cracked one eyelid open, then the other. His purple eyes met the dark brown of his mother's and he let out a small sob.

"It's alright, Matthew. You're safe now." Native America pulled Matthew close and held him until his cries diminished. "Are unharmed?"

Matthew gave a small nod and peered around his mother to look at the polar bear. It seemed that Native America had killed it by driving a spear into its chest. "I'm sorry Mother." Matthew said. "I didn't think to look for bears in a snowstorm. I was just trying to get wood as fast as I could so Alfred could get warm again."

"Geez, Canada," America said. "I'm immortal. I can't die from the cold."

Canada rolled his eyes. "I know that, but I'm your big brother. It's my job to constantly worry about you. Besides, you _were_ looking pretty cold. I was worried you had hypothermia."

"Mon fils," said France, pulling Canada into a one armed hug. "While I think it's great that you look out for your little brother, you really should be more careful in the future."

"Oui, Papa."

Native America smiled softly. "Your brother is fine and is sleeping. As for the polar bear…" She turned and examined the beast. "It seems we won't need to go hunting for awhile."

Matthew giggled and squirmed in her arms to be let free. "I'm going to get the wood now."

She let him go and this time, Matthew looked carefully at the ground _before_ heading towards the bush and breaking off several of the branches. The brittle twigs covered in snow broke off easily in his hands and in no time, he had an armful of the kindling. He turned and gave a smile to his mother and joined her in their walk back to the igloo, the bear carcass being dragged along behind them.


	7. New France

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come for Jacques Cartier to land on the shores of the Saint Lawrence river and for Matthew to meet Francis. But like every good thing, tragedy has to shadow it.

Sunlight danced through holes in the tree canopy above Matthew and Native America, a gentle breeze ruffled their hair. The blond-haired boy held onto his mother's hand as the two of them followed the worn hunting path through the forest. Though the birds sang in the sky above and the streams gurgled as water passed over their rocks, something about the scene set the nations watching on edge. Only the backs of Matthew and Native America were visible to the countries, but something felt... _off_ about Native America. She walked slower than the nations had seen her walk before and there seemed to be a weariness about her that didn't match her physical age.

Canada stifled a cry. He knew what was going to happen and he _really_ didn't want to relive it.

"Dude, you alright?" asked America.

"Y-yeah." mumbled Canada, clutching Mr. Kumajiro tighter.

Matthew swung the and that was clasped in his mother's. "Where are we going? Does this have anything to do with the strange clouds by the river?"

"Yes, my child." said Native America. "I'm taking you to go see them. Hopefully there will be a person there for you to meet."

Matthew stopped and cocked his head to one side. "Why me? Why not you?"

Native America's eyes filled with tears as she looked at her son. She crouched down and put her hands on Matthew's shoulders. "Do you remember the man that came to take Alfred away?"

England shifted uneasily in his seat. He hadn't thought of what his colonization of America would seem like to Native America and Canada.

Matthew nodded. A year ago, a strange man speaking a strange language by the name of Arthur landed in his brother's land. One day, Alfred had just disappeared in the night, leaving only a note saying that he was traveling back to Arthur's homeland and he would return soon. "He had green eyes." Matthew remembered.

"Yes." Native America nodded. "There is someone waiting for you at the river, just like Arthur waited for Alfred."

Matthew's face broke out into a grin. "Does that mean that you and me are going to see Alfred again?"

Native America winced. "You will."

"Oh." Matthew didn't quite understand what his mother was implying. Then something in his eyes lit up with excitement. "Have my storebrors come back?"

Norway grimace. "Sadly, it was not us."

Canada looked down. He couldn't believe that even after all those years, he had still harbored hope that his brothers would come back for him.

Native America shrugged. "I do not know, my child, but they are not our people."

Giddy with happiness, Matthew grabbed his mother's hand and raced down the path. "I want you to meet them. They're nice and they taught me their language and how to fight with their weapons." Suddenly Matthew stopped. "I hope Sigurd isn't there."

Prussia snorted. "Birdie, Sigurd was _mortal_. He can't have survived hundreds of years."

Canada blushed. "I really hadn't stayed in a place with a human long enough to see the extent of their lifetimes. I thought that everyone lived forever."

Native America smiled sadly as she watched Matthew skip through the woods. She winced again as her scars gave a particularly strong throb. "Matthew." she called. "Please come here."

Matthew stopped and ran back to her. "What is it, Mother? Do you need help again?"

"No." Native America gave a painful smile. "Matthew, please listen carefully. I'm afraid my time her is coming to a close. You and your brother are now ready to take charge of the land. The man you will meet will help you until you are older." A single tear leaked out of her left eye. "Your brother is gone now and soon you will be too. There is no more need for a personification of Native America. The pale men have already started settlements and their people will be yours in addition to our people."

"Mother, what-"

"Matthew, please!" Native America cried. "Take care of the land and your little brother. I love you, my son."

Matthew's eyes filled with tears. "Are you going to leave me too?"

Native America gave another sad smile. She quickly embraced her son. "I love you, Matthew."

Matthew sobbed from where he was in his mother's arms. "I love you too." he choked out.

America ran to Canada and hugged him, the two of them crying into each other's shoulders.

Native America let go of Matthew and gave him one last smile. Then, her form flickered and slowly faded, leaving only the memory of her lingering smile behind.

Matthew wailed. "MOTHER!" he cried.

Italy let out of sob and latched onto Germany, who gently stroked the back of his head. The memories of Grandpa Rome never coming back were at the forefront of his mind.

China bowed his head. He had seen many nations fade in his time, so this wasn't a new sight to him, but to others, it was.

Several nations were crying or staring at the scene in shock.

France looked like he wanted to comfort Canada, but England put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. "Let them be, love. They need to grieve alone for a while."

Matthew screamed in despair. He sank to his knees and buried his head in his hands. Suddenly, a breeze blew around him, caressing him in it's gentle embrace. Matthew thought he heard his mother's voice. _Do not cry for me, child. I am safe with the Spirits above. Always remember that I love you and your brother._

With one last choked sob, Matthew wiped his eyes and stood up. He would make his mother proud of him. Scanning his surroundings, Matthew made the decision to continue down the path to the river and find the strange man his mother had mentioned. If the man knew where he could find his brother, Matthew would go with him. It was his duty as the older brother to inform Alfred of their mother's passing. Casting one last look at the spot where his mother had disappeared, Matthew pushed through the undergrowth and stepped to the banks of the river. He stumbled in the soft sand and pale hands reached out to catch him. Matthew looked up in surprise at the man who had caught him. The man had silky blond hair that he wore tied back at the nape of his neck and sapphire blue eyes. He wore dark breeches and leather boots. His shirt was a white tunic covered by a long pale blue coat and a red sash wrapped around his waist. At his side was a sheathed sword and atop his head was a black tricorn hat.

France smiled. This day was one of the ones he would remember forever. The day he found Canada.

Matthew tilted his head as the man set him down. With his blond hair and blue eyes, the man looked a little like his storebrors. Maybe he knew them!

"Do you know my storebrors? Their names are Lukas, Berwald, and Mathias. They kind of resemble you." Matthew asked in Norse. He figured the man didn't know any of his native languages, but he might know Norse.

The man stepped back in shock. He said something in a language Matthew didn't know, and then asked a question Matthew didn't understand. When Matthew gave him a questioning look, he pointed to himself and said, "Francis."

"Matthew." Matthew said. "Why are you here?"

It was very surreal for France to hear the conversation again, but this time actually understanding what Matthew was saying.

But of course, the man didn't understand. Suddenly, Francis turned and barked an order at the people behind him. A man came up with a coloured piece of cloth in his hands. Francis grabbed the flag and planting it in the ground at his feet. "Nouvelle France," he declared.

Now Matthew understood what the man called Francis was doing. Arthur had done the same thing when he took Alfred away. Francis was claiming this land and named it 'New France'. Matthew thought that was silly. This land already had a name.

Suddenly, Matthew found himself being swept up in Francis's arms. The older man put Matthew on his hip and walked back to the ship, talking in his strange language the whole time. Matthew tried to tell him that he didn't understand, but all that came out was Norse, which the man clearly didn't know. Matthew sighed and buried his face closer to Francis's tunic. Maybe Francis would be his new big brother, just like his mother had said.


	8. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew comes back to his home and everything is different. He's not sure whether or not he likes it.

"Papa?" Matthew's small voice shook as he called out in the darkness. "Papa!"

The door of Matthew's bedroom opened and candlelight flooded in. Francis's face was illuminated by the flickering light as he traversed the room, candlestick in hand. "Matthieu, what's wrong?"

Matthew sniffled and pulled his knees up to his chest. "I had a nightmare."

The mattress sagged under the added weight as Francis sat down on the quilted comforter. He set the candlestick in a holder on Matthew's bedside table. The Frenchman pulled Matthew against his chest and rocked him back and forth, stroking his hair and singing lullabies in forgotten languages. When Matthew's cries diminished, Francis put a hand under Matthew's chin and wiped the tears from his colony's eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Matthew shook his head, but after a moment said, "I dreamed that my family left me again."

Francis hugged the small child closer and whispered. "They were foolish to leave you, who ever they were. I wish I could take you to see your brother, but Arthur won't let me. One day thought, I promise you will see Alfred agan."

With just a moment's hesitation, Matthew leaned forwards and planted a kiss on Francis's cheek. "Je t'aime Papa." It was the first time since Francis had found him over a year ago that Matthew had said those words.

Blue eyes widened and a slow smile spread across Francis's face. "Je t'aime aussi Matthieu."

"Awwww!" Hungary squealed. "That's so cute."

"You seemed to have had a very close relationship with your colony, Frog." grumbled England. Then, with a questioning glance, he added. "Did you bring him back to France with you?"

France spread his hands in a dramatic fashion. "But of course! I was not about to leave mon petit Matthieu alone in New France. Unlike you, I was ready to put my colony's needs above my own."

"Why you-" England growled, rolling up his sleeves and launching himself at France.

"Both of you, stop!" Germany snapped, stepping between the two brawling nations. "We have memories to watch and everytime you two fight, it's going to take us longer to get through them. Save your quarrels until _after_ the memories have finished."

Grumbling, France and England separated and stood back to watch the memories.

Smiling at his colony, France stood up from the bed and pulled the blankets up to Matthew's chin. France picked the candle back up and traversed the wooden floor to the door. "Goodnight, Matthieu." he whispered, before blowing out the candle and closing the door.

oO0Oo

Matthew ran to the bow of the ship. He grabbed onto the railing and closed his eyes, breathing in the salty air. Wind tousled his hair and blew past him. His long dark blue coat whipped around him and the spray from the sea splattered onto his black pants and polished shoes. He looked older than when the nations had last seen him, probably about six instead of two. Matthew let out a laugh that resonated all across the water and lit up the faces of several crew members. "I'm almost home!"

A chuckled sounded from behind him and Matthew turned to see Francis's laughing, face crinkling in mirth and a sparkle in his eyes. Francis held his hat on his head as he approached Matthew. "I take it you're excited to be going back to New France."

"Oui! I haven't been back here in decades."

More water washed over the bow and Matthew coughed as he got a mouthful of sea spray. He made a face when he saw Francis laughing. "Stop that!"

Suddenly, Francis was knocked down by a wave that hit him. When the water receded, he was soaking wet and sputtering, but his wet face broke out into a grin as he heard Matthew's peals of laughter.

Most of the nations were laughing too. Watching the two wet brothers, they could see that the two of them really loved one another.

Prussia was laughing the hardest. "Francy-pants, karma sucks."

The laughter continued when Matthew tried to run across the deck and instead slipped and went crashing into a pile of rigging.

"Alright, Matthieu, I think it's time for us to go back below deck. The sea looks like it's getting rough." Francis said, picking the child up from the tangle of ropes and hoisting him onto his hip.

Francis walked below deck, stumbling a bit with the pitching and rolling of the waves under the ship. The unlit lanterns on either side of the walls swayed every time the ship moved. Reaching their cabin, he fumbled with the latch before getting the door open and walking in, still holding Matthew. With a sigh, Francis set Matthew down on the bed and collapsed into a chair himself.

Matthew giggled and tugged on Francis's sleeve. "Papa, I'm still wet."

Francis opened one eye and gave a small smile. "Indeed you are. Alright, let's get you into dry clothes."

Matthew walked back over to the bed and sat down on the floor beside it, careful not to get the sheets wet. The sound of a drawer opening and closing could be heard in a space of the cabin out of Matthew's view.

"Come on, then. After this, we can go get the evening meal in the kitchen."

"D'accord Papa!"

oO0Oo

The first thing that Matthew noticed had changed about his home was the noise. The sounds of hammers hitting anvils rang through the streets and the sounds of horses and humans drowned out the songs of the birds and the whispers of the wind. The purple-eyed colony grabbed onto Francis's hand and pressed into his side as they walked the cobble streets of Quebec City, not believing his eyes at what he saw. His home, which used to be filled with trees and flowers and wildlife, had become a _city_ , just like the ones back in Francis's home. Matthew wished he had eight more eyes to take it in. It didn't seem possible that all this had happened in only a few decades. Francis led him to a building a little ways from the docks and unlocked the door.

"This will be our home whenever we come to Quebec." Francis said.

Matthew could only nod, still awestruck and speechless from their short walk to the house from the ship. Francis had taken off his boots and hat and was in the process of removing his coat when he noticed Matthew hadn't moved from the open door. "What's wrong, Matthieu? Is everything alright."

"It's so different. It's changed so much since I left." Matthew whispered.

Spain sighed. "I remember when I was colonized by Ancient Rome. He called me _Hispania_ and took me back to Rome with him. When I was allowed to return to my country many years later, everything had changed."

Canada nodded. "Everything was so different from the home I remembered. Before France colonized me, the loudest sounds you heard was the roar of angry animals or the chants of my tribes around a fire. But suddenly, you had to strain to even hear those. I didn't know how to react. Was I supposed to be happy, because I was becoming like France, or was I supposed to be sad because the home I knew had been taken away?"

Several former colonies smiled sadly, they had felt the same way.

Francis walked over to Matthew and kneeled in front of him, hands on his shoulders. "Matthieu, I understand that things seem to have changed, but not everything is different. Outside of the cities, the forests remain the same. Maybe one day, you can go there."

Matthew nodded and, with tears in his eyes, hugged Francis. He was reminded of what Berwald had told him centuries ago. _The land is forever_.


	9. Siege of Quebec

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Seven Years war has started and Matthew's country is in the thick of it.

Matthew ran down the cobble streets, laughing with a boy who ran by his side. Matthew was much older than the one in the last memory, about thirteen and wore a white button-down shirt and brown pants with suspenders. He wore a dark jacket and boots that reached mid-calf. "Come on Jacques!" he cried as the two boys ran. "I want to show you something!"

Jacques had dark brown hair and light blue eyes. Freckles were dotted across his face and when he smiled, the nations could see he was missing his one of his front teeth. Jacques was about the same age as Matthew dressed in a dark red shirt tucked into earthen coloured pants. His boots were black with brass buckles and were scuffed with dirt.

Jacques grinned broadly as he looked at his friend. "Alright!"

Canada smiled softly. Over the centuries, he had almost forgotten what Jacques had looked like.

"Yo bro!" America said, catching Canada's attention. "Was that your friend?"

"Yeah." Canada replied. "His name was Jacques, and he was one of my best friends. He was a lot like you, actually. Stubborn and reckless, but also brave." Canada winced. _If only Jacques hadn't been so reckless._

England studied the memory thoughtfully. "What year is this? The town seems very familiar."

Canada mumbled something the countries couldn't hear.

"You'll have to speak up, love." England said.

"1759." Canada said without looking up. "And we're in Québec."

Both England and France muttered curses under their breaths, shooting glances at Matthew, who was paler than usual.

Matthew led Jacques out of the town and towards the river. The water was deep and blue and the wind swirling around them, creating small waves in the river.

"What is it you wanted to show me?" asked Jacques, wiping the sweat off his brow and shivering slightly in the autumn breeze.

Matthew grinned and pointed upwards, towards a large tree in the distance. "Look at the size of it."

Jacques grinned. "I bet it would be a cool place for a hideout. What do you say we climb up there."

"Won't your father be mad if you come home covered in leaves and sap?"

"Meh, he'll already be upset that I skived off work, what's a little dirt going to add to his anger?" Jacques grinned up at the tree. "Come on!"

He grasped the lowest branch in his hands and pulled himself into a sitting position on top. Matthew laughed and did the same. It was nice to have time when they could just be boys and escape the suffocating noise of the city.

"I'll race you to the top!" No sooner were the words out of Jacques mouth did he start to pull himself up to the next branch.

"No fair!" laughed Matthew. Giving one glance towards the top of the tree, he followed Jacques up.

oO0Oo

Matthew poked his head out of the leaves and stared in wonder at the sight below him. The two boys were as high as the branches would let them, only about half of the height of the tree, but it was still an impressive distance. Matthew had never been this high before, never his land from the eyes of a bird. Trees stretched to the north and west, covering the September ground in a layer of multi coloured foliage. To the south was Québec city in all its glory, the buildings looking like children's blocks and the people no bigger than ants. When Matthew looked west, he could see the plains stretching into the horizon.

"Wow." Italy murmured. "That would make a very pretty painting!"

"Yeah," Canada agreed, his eyes fixed on the memory. He seemed to be drinking a forgotten sight. "It would."

"Look!" cried Jacques. "I see a ship!"

Matthew turned and saw what Jacques was pointing too. In the distance, a ship approached rapidly. No, not one ship. _Hundreds_. They appeared over the horizon like birds in a flock, all clumped together in military formation. Matthew cocked his head. Papa hadn't told him reinforcements were coming to Québec to help with the war. Then he caught sight of the flags that rippled in the wind. His eyes widened and he whispered, "It's the British."

Several of the nations involved in the Seven Years War paled. They were pretty sure they knew what was about to happen.

Jacques squinted in the sunlight. "How can you te- Oh. I can see them now."

"We have to go warn the city!" Matthew cried, already lowering himself down into the next branch. He looked back up for Jacques, but he wasn't there. "Wha-?" Then he looked down and he saw Jacques several branchs below, barely catching each branch before dropping to the one below it. "Jacques, be careful!"

Jacques didn't look up as he said. "I know, but my family is back there. If I hadn't of snuck off, I might be back there to protect them."

"Was his family alright?" England asked quietly.

"His brother got out alive."

England lowered his eyes. He noticed Canada had not mentioned Jacques.

"We'll get back in time." Matthew promised. "They aren't far up the river yet."

The two boys had barely touched ground before they took off in the direction of the city. Matthew could feel his hair whipping around his ears as he ran, his open jacket billowing behind him. One glance at Jacques told him that the other boy was terrified about what they might find when they reached Québec. The boy's light blue eyes brimmed with tears and his breaths were coming out in short pants as he pushed himself to his limit. As a personification of the land, Matthew didn't tire easily, but he knew that Jacques was human and wouldn't be able to keep the pace up for much longer.

"Jacques!" Matthew called, not slowing down. "Stop and take a break. I can get there on my own."

Jacques let out a stream of curse words that had several of the older nations cover the younger nation's ears. With a strained smile, Jacques added. "You think I'll let you get all the glory?"

Matthew barked out a laugh before refocusing his attention on the wooded trail in front of them. At the speed they were running, it didn't surprise him when, only a few minutes later, they reached the gates of Québec. They stopped in front of one of the soldiers guarding the gates and Jacques grabbed ahold of one of the posts to steady himself.

"How far did you guys run?" Germany folded his arms. "Your friend his out of breath, but you do not even seem winded."

Canada thought for a moment. "Maybe three kilometres. He's also human and doesn't have the same endurance that we do."

America scratched his head. "How far is that in regular measurements?"

Canada rolled his eyes. "Almost 33 football fields."

"That's all you needed to say."

"The British." Jacques gasped out between heaving air into his lungs. "They're coming up the river."

The soldier nodded grimmly and Matthew walked over to his friend. "You alright to move?"

Jacques held up a hand for Matthew to wait, before nodding and standing and walking down the cobbled streets towards his house, limping slightly. Matthew walked along beside him until they got to the crossroads that separated their streets. "Listen," Matthew said. "I have to go and find-"

"Yeah." Jacques gasped. "Go find your father, I need to find my little brothers and sisters."

Matthew nodded and gave one last concerned glance at his friend before turning and running down the street towards the grand house at the end that belonged to Francis.

oO0Oo

"Papa!" Matthew screamed as he flung the door open.

Francis was out of his seat by the fire in an instant. "What is it, mon petit?"

"Arthur's here."

And that was all that need to be said.

Francis cursed and pulled on his coat and hat. He ran to the chest at the other end of the room and pushed up the top, taking a rifle from the wooden box. "Stay here." he ordered before running out the door.

Matthew rolled his eyes. Like he would stay inside when his home was in danger. Besides, he had a bad feeling about Jacques. The other boy was always to reckless for his own good and Matthew was worried that he would do something he would regret. Pausing only to close the door, he followed Francis out into the streets.

"Canada, I told you to stay there." said France, wiggling his finger mockingly at Canada.

England gave a low chuckle. "It's strange seeing Canada disobeying people. That job is usually his brother's."

"Hey, Old Man, why don't you mind you-"

Prussia grinned. "I'm all for a good fight, but Birdie's memories are continuing and I don't want to miss them." He winked at Canada.

Matthew's pace was less urgent than it had been only a few moment ago, but he scanned the building frantically for Jacques or Francis. Matthew was almost on the verge of heading back to his home when he heard the first sounds of gunfire. His eyes widened. He hadn't thought the British would attack so quickly. Through the thickening smoke and the screams of dying men, Matthew saw a familiar head of dark brown hair. "Jacques!" he cried, thankful that his friend was alright.

But as he approached Jacques, Matthew noticed that his expression was off. Jacques looked wildeyed and stunned. "Are you alright?" Matthew asked gently, trying to ignore the pain that was starting to blossom in his shoulder.

"No, it's-" Jacques stopped himself. "Are you hurt?"

Matthew looked down and stumbled. Dark crimson was starting to spread across the fabric of his shirt over his left shoulder.

"Mon fils, are you alright?" France cried, latching onto Canada.

"Oui, Papa. It was a long time ago."

Spain tilted his head in confusion. "But I didn't see you get shot."

"I wasn't shot, it was just because of the battles that were happening on my land."

"I'm fine." he gritted his teeth. "Are you?" he prompted again.

Jacques shook his head rapidly. "No, my parents. I don't know where they are. Étienne said the others went to go look for them. They're not in the city. I already looked."

The older nations subconsciously stepped in front of their former colonies in a protective gesture.

"Well, that is not good." England said weakly, running a hand through his hair.

Matthew drew in a harsh breath. Étienne was the youngest of Jacques's siblings at five years old. Étienne went everywhere with his older brothers and if Étienne was alone, it meant that the others thought that where they were going would be too dangerous for the child. Matthew's eyes drifted beyond the gate, to the only place where Étienne wasn't allowed to follow them. "You don't think." he trailed off.

Jacques nodded, tears in his eyes. "I'm going after them. I just wanted to tell you, if I don't make it back, look after Éti-"

Matthew shook his head. "No, you're not going out there. Not into a battlefield."

Giving a weak grin, Jacques hefted a rifle that Matthew hadn't noticed was in his hand. "I'll be alright."

Matthew stared at him incredulously. "Since when do you know how to fire a gun?"

"I don't." With that, Jacques gave Matthew one last smile and lept into the smoke.

Romano rolled his eyes. "That Bastardo went out with a gun he couldn't even use? Stupid"

Canada shot Romano a glare through his gap in France's arms.

"Jacques!" Matthew cried. Of all the stupid things Jacques had done in the time they'd known each other, this was the worst. Matthew took a step forwards to follow him, but fell to his knees. Why was the flat cobble surface suddenly tilted? And why was everything yellow? Matthew was pretty sure that the world wasn't supposed to be that colour. Matthew heard a cannon fire and the screams of his people, before everything went dark.


	10. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While his country is being attack, Matthew falls into a coma of sorts. He dreams of better times.

Prussia winced. That was not a good way to experience your first major battle wound, alone and without another of your kind near to help you.

Meanwhile, England was feeling guilty. He turned to face Canada, but wouldn't meet his former colony's eyes. "Listen, lad, I'm sor-"

He didn't get to finish his apology before Canada hugged him. "I know you really didn't mean it, Dad. You were just obsessed with grabbing all the land you could and expanding your empire."

England was glad that Canada didn't blame him anymore, but his reasoning didn't make England feel any better. He really should have stopped to consider the effects it would have had on the young colony.

Unaware of England inner turmoil, France was chastising Canada. "If you had stayed in the house like I had asked you to, you wouldn't have been in as much danger. Really, what were you thinking, standing so near the place where the British would first enter."

Canada shrugged. "Either way, I would have been hurt no matter where I was in Quebec."

"That's not the point!"

"Ladies!" Alfred stepped between his brother and step-father. "Save your argument for later. The memories are continuing."

Matthew dreamed. He wasn't sure what was going on outside the walls, save for the small bits and pieces that floated through his unconsciousness. Even in his dreams, he couldn't shake the pain that throbbed in his shoulder. Memories swirled past him in a blur, only some of them clear enough for him to see, before a vision came to the forefront of his conscious.

_Matthew was little again, about three years old. He sat next to his brother and mother around a campfire, watching the stars in the sky. The flickering firelight illuminated their faces, basking them a warm glow that highlighted every feature._

" _Mother," Matthew whispered. "You do not look well."_

_He looked across the fire to where Native America sat on a log next to Alfred. Indeed, she was looking a bit sickly, though not as bad as when Francis had discovered Matthew. Her face was pale and slightly gaunt, like she had just gotten over a bad illness._

"Why does she look so terrible?" asked Italy, unaware of Germany trying to shush him.

"It's because she was rapidly losing her territory. Technically, in this memory, America already belonged to England, but they two hadn't met yet."

Italy made a small 'o' of understanding.

" _I am fine, Matthew." she gave him a soft smile. "But thank you for asking."_

_Native America brushed a loose lock of her hair behind her ear and changed the subject. "It's late, you boys must be tired."_

_Alfred shook his head rapidly, causing the feathers braided in his hair to whip back and forth. "We're not tired." Just then he yawned and looked sheepish. "Okay, maybe just a little."_

England rolled his eyes. So typically America.

_Matthew grinned and blinked sleepily. "Will you tell us a story?" He stood and walked around the fire to sit on the log on Native America's other side. "Please."_

" _Alright." Native America pulled both boys onto her lap and looked at both of them. "What story would you like me to tell tonight?"_

" _Oh!" Alfred bounced a little on her knee. "Can you tell us about the men that landed on my shores?"_

_Native America smiled. "I don't know much about them, but I do know that the man's name is Arthur and he will be your new big brother, Alfred."_

_Alfred frowned. "But I have a big brother already. His name is Matthew and he's sitting next to you." his eyes widened. "You can see him, right? I'm not imagining him?"_

Everyone watching burst out into much-needed laughter.

"Honestly, America. Did you think Canada was a figment of your imagination all this time, aru?" China asked, doubled over in laughter.

_Native America laughed. "Yes, Alfred, I can see him. And Matthew will not be your only big brother. It is possible to have more than one brother."_

" _Yeah, Al. I once had three big brothers." Matthew turned to Native America. "Do you think the men know my storebrors?"_

" _I do not know, child."_

_Matthew sighed and looked down. It had been so long since he'd seen the three Vikings, he was starting to doubt that they would ever come back. Native America, noticing her son's sadness, put a hand under Matthew's chin and tilted it up so he looked at her. "I'm sure you will see them again, Matthew."_

"Not for centuries." grumbled Canada under his breath, but the Nordics seemed to understand his feelings, because they winced.

_Despite her reassurances, Matthew shifted uncomfortably in the breeze. The night was cool for spring and he burrowed closer to his mother's warmth. After a moment, Native America spoke again. "I cannot tell you any more of the pale men. I am sorry, but that is all I know."_

" _That's alright, Mother." Alfred said. "Could you tell us another story?"_

_Native America smiled at her two boys and told the stories of their people until Matthew's eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep._

oO0Oo

_The memory changed. The sounds of swords clanging against one another were the first sounds to be heard. The memory cleared and the nations could see the Vikings sparing with Matthew._

_Matthew was dressed differently than in the last memory. He wore a red tunic with a fur vest over top and brown pants that were held up by a length of rope around his waist._

" _Very good, Matthew!" Mathias chuckled. "A few more years, and you might be mediocre."_

"Denmark!" said Finland, shocked. "That's not what you say to a child learning a new skill. He's going to be discouraged."

_Matthew stuck his tongue out at the older man and swung the sword down hard on the Vikings own sword. The jarring of the weapon was so unexpected that Mathias dropped the sword and it clattered to the ground._

"Never mind."

_Lukas let out a bark of laughter. "So arrogant, Mathias. See where it got you this time?"_

_Grumbling, Mathias picked his sword up from where it lay in the dirt and stomped off to the side of the makeshift arena. "I only lost because I used a sword, not my axe."_

"Keep telling yourself that, mate." said Australia, grinning. "The Canada I know excels at weapons."

Canada blushed and buried his face in Mr. Kumajiro's fur. " _Australia!_ There goes my reputation as a peacekeeping country."

"Sorry." said Australia, not sounding very sorry at all.

" _Sure." Lukas scoffed, rolling his eyes._

_Berwald let out a low chuckle. "I think that's enough sword practice for today."_

" _Aw!" Matthew pouted. "But-"_

" _He's right, Matthew." Lukas said. "It's getting dark and you've been fighting for hours already."_

_Matthew still protesting loudly, Mathias picked the small colony up and held him against his sweat-soaked chest. "Come on, Lille Bjørn. It's time for bed. Although," Mathias said with a small chuckle. "We might want to go take a bath in a stream before going back to camp. I don't think the other men would let us into the camp in our state."_

_Lukas laughed. "If there's one thing I will ever agree with you on, it's that you stink."_

" _Gee, thanks."_

The nations watching were glad to have several happy memories to push away the terrible scene they had witnessed during the Siege of Quebec.

_Berwald let out a laugh that had become more common since discovering Matthew. Joining in with their fellow Viking, Mathias and Lukas started walking down the path towards the sound of running water, all the while holding onto the struggling colony. Matthew twisted in Mathias's arms to look back at the sword arena. "Storebrors." he said, turning back to face the front. "Will you stay with me forever?"_

" _Sure." Mathias pushed Matthew's sweaty hair from his forehead. "We'll always be with you."_

Denmark winced. He had wondered how had Matthew still harboured hope that they would come centuries later, and now he knew it was because of all the empty promises they had made him.

oO0Oo

Matthew blinked groggily and sat up. He immediately regretted the action when the wound in his shoulder gave a throb. Letting out a cry, Matthew clutched his wrapped shoulder.

"Ouch, Birdie. That doesn't look good." Prussia said, referring to the white bandage stained with crimson blood that was wrapped around his shoulder.

"It certainly didn't feel good." agreed Canada.

"Papa?" he croaked.

Hands appeared in his vision and held a ladle of water to his lips, from which he drank gratefully. "Papa?" he asked again in a stronger voice.

"Hush." Francis's face appeared out of the foggy edges of Matthew's vision. "I'm here."

Matthew realized that the wetness on his face wasn't just sweat, but tears were brimming in his eyes, though he didn't know if they were from the pain or from the memories he'd just seen. Trying to distract himself, he looked around the room. With a start, he realized that they weren't in their house. In fact, the room didn't look like the interior of any of the houses he'd seen in Quebec.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim candlelight, he began to notice more troubling things. Francis looked exhausted, as though he hadn't slept in days and there were several more people lying in cots spread across the room, wrapped in bandages and being tended to by nurses. "Where are we?" Matthew asked, slightly scared of the answer Francis would give.

"Montreal."

"And Quebec?"

"Perdu à l'Anglais." Francis spat out the words like they were poison in his mouth.

Matthew hardly dared ask, fearing the answer he already knew. "Is Jacques…?"

Francis shook his head sadly. "No one saw him after the battle. We can only assume that he's gone."

Italy burst into tears and clutched onto Germany.

Matthew felt numb. His first human friend, the only one who hadn't questioned why he aged slower than everyone else and why he was _strange_ , was dead.

Francis reached over and brushed a tear that Matthew hadn't noticed had fallen, off his cheek. "It will be okay, Matthieu. Arthur will pay for what he's done. He'll have to pry you from my dead body. I will _never_ give you up."


	11. France's Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war is over and things are not looking good for Matthew.

"Honestly, amigos, you have to stop making empty promises." said Spain, resting his head on top of a struggling Romano's.

France winced. "I know, but at least I didn't give him up willingly."

Denmark turned to face the Frenchman, hands balled into fists. "We didn't want to leave Vinland, Sigurd made us. We tried to come back, unlike you."

"You dare-"

France was interrupted by Austria, who said. "Whether or not you meant to leave, the fact remains that you both _did_ leave Canada. The two of you are at just as much of a fault as the other."

"He's right, mate. You have to guess at what Canada must be feeling right now and not focus on blaming each other."

At once, all eyes turned to the elder North American twin, who lowered his eyes to the floor and bit his lip. "I-I-I'm fine. It's alright, I'm used to it by now."

"But Birdie." Prussia came over and pulled the purple-eyed nation into his arms. "You shouldn't have to 'be used to it'."

"It's fine. The memory is over and I'd rather not dwell on it too much."

China turned to England. "Please tell me you didn't make anymore of those foolish promises. I don't think the poor boy could take anymore shattered expectations."

England shook his head. "I was never as close with Canada as his other colonizers. It never even occurred to me to make that promise." Even as he said that, he frowned, not sure if that was a good thing or not.

The other nations watching copied his expression.

Matthew sat huddled on a chair in front of a closed door. The hallway in which he waited in was dark and gloomy, only several oil lamps lighting the interior. When the nations looked, they could see that both the building and Matthew looked battled worn. Bullet holes littered the wooden paneling of the building, letting in fractured rays of the setting sun. Everything in the hallways was covered in a layer of gunpowder smoke and dust, giving the impression that it had been abandoned for decades.

"Damn," Romano said, stopping in his struggles momentarily. "What happened?"

"War." Was all Canada said.

Matthew didn't look much better. His pale blue shirt was torn and filthy and he looked terrified. His shoulder was still wrapped, but the bandages were clear of any blood. On the other hand, he had a new bandage peeking out from beneath the untucked hem of the shirt. The nations were pretty sure that particular bandage hadn't been there in the last memory. Matthew's pants were frayed at the bottoms and a bit short, like there had been no time to replace them, or he hadn't noticed.

"You look terrible." America said, for once serious.

"Thanks." grumbled Canada, still enveloped in Prussia's warm embrace.

A sniffled caught the attention of several countries and they could see that the young colony was cry, trying in vain to muffle his sobs. Tears rolled down Matthew's cheeks and he hugged his knees closer to his chest. He was clearly trying to stop crying, but to no avail. "Please. Make it stop." he whimpered. "Just end it already."

Several former colonies recognized Matthew's pain as the same one they had felt when changing from one empire to another.

Moments after he spoke those words, the door opened and two men stepped out. Both wore military uniforms, though one was French and the other was English.

"So have we come to an agreement?" Matthew recognized the person speaking as Arthur, the man who had come to take Alfred away. He was also the person who had waged war against him and his Papa.

"Yes." Francis's voice was thick. "Yes, I believe we have."

"What's the agreement?" Matthew piped up, his voice unnervingly small for his appearance of a thirteen-year-old.

The silence surrounding the watching nations was tense and full of melancholy at Matthew's nativity.

Francis ignored him and glared at Arthur. "He's yours. New France officially belongs to the English."

Matthew didn't even have time to register the words that had just been spoken before pain sear through his left arm. Matthew screamed and clutched his bicep trying to hold back the pain. With a gasp, he drew away his hand and the pale skin glistened red with blood. Dark crimson spread across the shirt, staining it forever with the colour of betrayal.

"Wait," Norway said. "If you have one from the end of the French colonization, do you have one from us?"

Sweden's head snapped up, but he stayed silent, hoping against hope that they hadn't hurt their lille bror. His hopes were dashed when Canada lifted his hair to reveal his left ear and the small scar behind it.

"Oh, Canada. We are so sorry." Norway breathed, a hint of guilt showing on his otherwise emotionless face.

"Don't." Canada said. "It's not your fault."

"Papa, _why_?" Matthew choked out.

Francis, who had been walking away, hesitated for only a second, before continuing to walk down the hallway, his boots echoing hauntingly in the place where he had once ruled. "You belong to Arthur now, Matthew. Be good for him and he might let you visit sometime."

" _France!_ "

CLANG!

Hungary had just hit France over the head with her frying pan. "The boy is traumatized. You were _not_ helping!"

Canada broke free of Prussia's hold and grabbed Hungary's wrist just as she was about to start hitting France again. "It's in the past. Besides, I'm sure it was taking all of his willpower to walk away without letting me know how much he was hurting."

France nodded frantically, cowering in the shadow of the frying pan. "C'est vrai! I didn't want to upset Matthieu anymore my breaking down in front of him."

"Fine." Hungary lowered her frying pan, but glared at France. "It still wasn't nice to leave without saying goodbye."

France lowered his eyes, knowing she was right

'He called me _Matthew_ , not _Matthieu_.' Matthew noticed. That's when he knew that things were never going to be the same again.

"Oi, lad. Let's go." Arthur grasped Matthew's uninjured arm and pulled him up. He beckoned for Matthew to follow him down the corridor. Matthew did, never letting go of his bloody arm, hoping to stop the blood that poured through his fingers with every step.

"Geez, bro. How big was the scar?" America asked.

"Wrapped almost the entire way around my bicep." Canada answered.

Matthew didn't speak again until they were in the captain's cabin of a large ship, that he noticed, with a sad expression, sailed under the Union Jack. "What am I now?" he asked quietly.

Arthur didn't reply until he was done tying off the bandage he had just wrapped around Matthew's bicep. Getting up from where he was kneeling, he looked down at the colony that he could now call his own. "You are now the English colony of Canada. Welcome to the British Empire."


	12. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the devastation Matthew experienced last chapter, there is a silver lining. Alfred's back!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alistar Kirkland is Scotland
> 
> Dylan Kirkland is Wales
> 
> Seamus Kirkland is Ireland

Matthew sat in silence on a bench in the ship's galley, quietly drumming his fingers on the rough wooden table. He knew that he was on course for England, but he had no idea when the ship would arrive. So much had changed in the past seven weeks at sea and Matthew still couldn't believe everything that had happened. He was scared of this new big brother, who he had been told was a former pirate, the king of ancient legend, and the personification of a ruthless empire. Still, the man had been kind to him so far, even if Matthew hadn't seen him for longer than an hour at a time and that was usually during the evening meal. Matthew was broken from his thoughts by a shout coming from the closed door at the other end of the galley. Standing up, Matthew climbed the steps and pushed open the heavy wooden door, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the harsh light. The air smelled of salt and seaweed, fish and horses. In a daze, Matthew walked over to the railing and lean forwards, drinking in the sight of the busy port. Men ran around, hauling cargo onto trading ships and swinging down from the rigging to say goodbye to their families. Mothers walked amongst the stalls, carefully choosing fish and other sea-catches or imported things for the coming day's meals. Children ran and shouted through the streets, playing in the midday sun.

"Beautiful place, isn't it?" Arthur walked up next to Matthew and stood beside him at the railing, hands clasped behind his back as he breathed in the salty air. "Still, nothing can compare with the majesty of a ship on the open sea, the waves battering against the hull as you sleep in nature's lullaby."

Spain signed in longing. "Of course, I would have gotten to listen to that lullaby more if you hadn't _sunk my Armada_!"

England rolled his eyes. "The British Navy was always superior to the hunks of floating wood you called an armada."

Spain lept at England, but before they could get into a fight, Hungary raised the frying pan threateningly and the two former empires retreated to opposite ends of the crowd, trying to get away from the weapon.

Matthew nodded silently, not moving his gaze from the strange land.

"Well, lad, they're lowering the gangplank, we should get going." Arthur strode across the deck without waiting to see if Matthew would follow.

Taking one last look at his new home from above, Matthew turned and followed the older man down to the dock.

oO0Oo

An hour later, Matthew stood with Arthur outside the grand doors of a large house. Matthew looked at the brass knocker, apprehensive, but with an encouraging nod from Arthur, banged the knocker against the door several times before stepping back.

Arthur smiled. "Your brother's been waiting for you."

Just as he said that, the doors flew open and Matthew was knocked onto the dirt garden by a blond-haired blur that yelled, "Mattieeeeeee!"

Matthew blinked. "Alfred?"

His brother grinned from his position atop Matthew's chest. "That's me! How are you doing? I haven't seen you in _forever_!" Alfred said, still grinning.

"Amerique! You're crushing him!" said France, though he, like every other nation watching the memory, could keep the smile off his face at the reunion.

Arthur smiled at his colonies. "Come along, Alfred. Get off your brother before you send him into shock. Matthew," he turned to the other boy. "How about we go inside and get you a change of clothes?"

Matthew looked down, just noticing that he was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing when Francis had given him to Arthur. The memory caused a lump to form in his throat and he pushed it away before he started crying. "Yes, please. That would be nice."

"-and it's going to be awesome having you around, there's really no one to play with. Arthur is always away and nobody our age lives around here, so-"

"Alfred," Matthew laughed. "Calm down, I'm not going anywhere soon so you can slow down your speech."

"Oh, yeah." Alfred muttered sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Russia laughed, a low rumble in the back of his throat. "I see not much has changed since then, da?"

oO0Oo

Matthew stood in front of a mirror, working a comb through his wet and tangled hair. It felt good to be clean and dressed in new clothes. After his bath, he had discarded his torn and bloody shirt and pants in favour of some of the clothes Alfred loaned him.

"It's only until Arthur can get a tailor to make some that will fit you." Alfred had explained, handing over the slightly larger clothes to the leaner boy.

Matthew put the comb down on the counter and twisted to see his new outfit. He wore deep blue breeches with long white socks and shiny black buckled shoes. His shirt was a shade of green so dark it was almost black and it was covered by a tan coat trimmed in gold braid. They were slightly large on him, but Alfred had always been bigger than him, even when they were children. It annoyed Matthew to no end that he was the older brother but was still smaller than Alfred.

Looking around at the elegant bathroom, Matthew decided that he liked Arthur's home, even if it wasn't as inviting as his home back in Quebec. Thinking of that sent another pang of sorrow through him and be scolded himself out loud for thinking of it.

"Are you alright?"

Matthew whirled around and came face to face with Alfred, who repeated the question again.

"Yeah, it just takes some getting used too."

Alfred laughed. "Tell me about it. Going from sleeping on furs in a teepee with the stars over to sleeping on a bed with feather pillows and knitted quilts is quite a...change."

England snorted. "You were such a pain in the ass the first decade after I found you. You wouldn't be able to believe how many times I had to stop you from setting a fire in the kitchen or how many times I caught you trying to sneak out to sleep under the stars. And don't even get me started on trying to get you to wear gentlemen's clothes. A bloody handful, you were."

Prussia laughed as America's face reddened.

Matthew joined in his laughter and within minutes, they were in full out hysterical laughter. It felt good to laugh again with his brother, even if it was for no apparent reason.

"It had been centuries since we'd been able to laugh like that together." Canada whispered.

"Come on," Alfred said once he'd finally stopped laughing, wiping away some tears that had come to his eyes. "I came to tell you that Arthur said that supper was ready." Alfred slung an arm across Matthew's shoulders as they walked down the hall.

oO0Oo

Matthew and Alfred fidgeted slightly under Arthur's gaze in the parlour. The two boys were covered in dirt and their clothes were ripped and torn. Matthew's hair had come out of the tie at the nape of his neck and framed his face messily. Alfred sported a large bruise on the side of his face and the remnants of a bloody nose that were slowly starting to fade as his nation healing kicked in.

"Ve~Did you get into a fight?" Italy asked. "Because you should have asked Germany to help you."

Germany sighed. "I do not think I was a country at that time, Italy."

"Oh yeah. Dude, I keep forgetting that you're younger than me." America laughed.

"Just what." Arthur said in a deadly calm voice. "Were you _thinking_?" He cut off Alfred's protest by answering his own question. "You obviously weren't thinking at all."

"What did you do?" Norway asked slowly.

Matthew looked down at his scuffed boots and twiddled his thumbs, not speaking.

"You were forbidden from going outside in this weather! You could have been seriously injured!"

The memories of what had happened only a few hours before flashed through Matthew's mind.

" _Matt!"_

_Alfred's cry brought Matthew attention from his studies and to the window. He gasped when he saw what his brother was looking at. Plump white flakes were descending from the sky, covering the ground with a layer of cold frosting._

" _That very nice, Al, but we can't go outside. Arthur told us to stay here and copy from the texts…" he trailed off when he noticed Alfred closing his books and getting up from his chair. "Where are you going?"_

" _Outside. It's the first snowfall of the season and I'm not going to miss it! Are you coming?"_

Sweden sighed. If the twins were anything like their original brothers, the Nordics, he already knew what was going to happen.

_Matthew hesitated and looked down at his work. He really didn't want to spend the rest of the afternoon conjugating Latin verbs and the snow outside reminded him that he hadn't spent a winter with his brother since they were children._

"It was that long?" Italy asked in a small voice. "I can't imagine even a week without mio fratellone. What about you, Romano?"

When Romano stayed silent, his lip started to quiver.

"Fine!" Romano yelled. He couldn't stand to see his brother cry, even if it meant sacrificing his reputation. "I can't imagine a week without you either, fratellino."

Italy launched himself at Romano despite Romano's shouts of alarm and protest.

_Mind made up, Matthew closed his book and followed Alfred out the door._

_Grabbing the red scarf Arthur had knitted for him, Matthew wrapped it around his head as he stepped out the door. The weather in England was much warmer than back home, something Matthew was glad for because he and his brother weren't wearing anything suitable for the season. "Where are we going?"_

" _You'll see!" Alfred turned around and his eyes glinted with mischief._

_After a few minutes of running through the snowy fields behind Arthur's house, they came to a large hill._

" _You want to go up there?" Matthew asked, a bit faint._

" _Sure. I've been working on something up there I want to show you."_

_Grabbing Matthew's hand, Alfred dragged him up to the top of the hill. By this time, snow had blanketed the ground in a thin layer and Matthew could feel the wetness start to seep through his shoes. "What did you want to show me?"_

" _This." Alfred brushed snow off a tarp woven from flexible wooden strips. Lifting the cover, he revealed his creation to his brother._

" _Oh, wow." Matthew breathed._

_Under the tarp was a sled carved from oak wood with hazel runners. Engraved in the wood were the words 'North American Brothers'._

"Did you make that yourself, America?" England asked, a bit curious.

"Sure did! Learned how to make them from my tribes back when I was roaming North America with Canada and our Mom, though I modified the design a little."

" _I started building it when the weather turned cold." Alfred explained. "You coming, or not?"_

_Nodding his head, Matthew got on the back of the sled with Alfred sitting in front of him. The house looked a lot bigger from this height and Matthew was just starting to have second thoughts about sledding down a hill where there was almost no snow, when Alfred leaned forwards and they rushed down the hill._

_They were only sliding for a few seconds before everything went terribly wrong. The sled ran out of snow and hit a rock had on. The sled stopped, unharmed, but the brothers still carried too much momentum and were pitched over the top of the sled and hit the frozen ground, tumbling to the bottom in a heap of limbs._

Several countries winced.

_The first thing Matthew noticed when he raised his eyes from the ground where he'd fallen was a pair of shiny boots tapping impatiently on the dirt._

"Oh, mate. You're in trouble." Australia breathed, remembering his own time under Arthur's control.

_Matthew mentally cursed and jabbed his brother in the side._

" _Ow Matt, that hur-" Alfred trailed off when he saw who Matthew was looking at._

 _Arthur was staring in disapproval at them_.

"Well?" Arthur's angry voice brought Matthew back to the present. "What do you have to say for yourselves.

"Ah, calm doon, Arthur. They're just wee laddies an' will dae 'oolish things sometimes. Besides, it's th' first snowfaa they've hud together since their colonization. Jist lit 'em be."

England started muttering curses that had several nations cover the younger nation's ears.

Matthew's head turned at the new voice; a deep burr between puffs of a pipe that Matthew new only belonged to one person.

"Uncle Alistar!" Matthew and Alfred cried, throwing themselves onto their Scottish uncle.

"Guid day, wee jimmies. 'Ow's Arthur bin treatin' ye? Looks like 'e's still as uptecht as usual."

When England's mutterings only got louder, France stepped over towards the Englishman and wrapped and arm around him, covering England's mouth with his hand.

The twins snickered as Arthur slowly turned red and turned to face his older brother. "Alistar, what are you doing here? I thought I made it very clear you're not invited to my home!" He caught sight of the piper the Scotsman was smoking. "Don't smoke that distatsful thing in my house-"

"Me an' Seamus an' Dylan want tae tak' ye tae a pub tonecht. Come alang, wee brither, th' carriage awaits."

France seemed to enjoy the fact that he was holding England and England wasn't hitting him. Of course, England was in the middle of inventing several new curse words that had the countries closest to him wincing, so he was a bit preoccupied.

Alistar picked up a protesting Arthur by the waist and put him under his arm. He turned back to his nephews and gave them a wink before opening the door and throwing a disgruntled Arthur into the waiting hands of his brothers. "Guid luck findin' yer sled in th' snaw."


	13. Revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After only a short time together, Alfred's leaving. The effect is has on his family is depressing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Toby Kirkland - New Zealand
> 
> Jett Kirkland - Australia

Matthew woke to the creak of a door opening. Sitting up groggily, he blinked a few times to let his eyes adjust to the candlelight coming from the entryway. "Who's there?"

A sniffle came from the figure holding the candle. "M-M-Matthew? Can I stay with you?" The person speaking stepped into the light and Matthew realized it was Jett, one of the new additions to Arthur's long list of colonies.

Australia groaned. "Jeez, why couldn't I have slept in my own bed?"

Canada grinned softly at his brother. "You used to be scared of violence, remember?"

"Oh, yeah."

Germany blinked. "Are jou saying zhat zhe person who wrestles dangerous animals for fun is scared of _violence_?"

"Not anymore, mate! That was a long time ago!" Australia huffed.

The small boy of about seven was clutching the koala Arthur had given him upon their introduction. Arthur had given Matthew a bear, but Matthew couldn't quite remember what he'd called him.

'That doesn't matter right now.' Matthew turned his attention back to the colony standing in his doorway. "Sure." He moved over to make way for Jett in the bed and tucked the younger boy under the covers. "What's wrong?"

Jett's pale green eyes filled with tears. "They're fighting again and it's scaring me."

"Oh." said America softly.

Matthew knew immediately who 'they' were. For over a year, Alfred and Arthur had been at each other's throats and it had everyone else in the house on edge. Matthew was glad that Toby was a deep sleeper because he wasn't sure if there was room for more than two people in his bed. "It'll be alright, you'll see. Now, go to sleep and everything will be better in the morning."

Matthew brushed his hand over Jett's messy hair and smiled. The smaller boy smiled back and hugged his koala close as his eyes fluttered shut and his breathing became softer. Matthew laid back down but didn't go to sleep. He thought about his brother and Arthur. Ever since the French and Indian War, Arthur had been putting the American colonies through heavy taxes and Alfred was at his wit's end with his father-figure. Matthew understood where Alfred was coming from, but this behavior was really unlike him. Refusing to be in the same room as Arthur and insulting him at every turn wasn't like the Alfred he knew. Eyelids beginning to grow heavy, Matthew closed them and dreamed.

_Matthew sat in front of the fire, reading a book and stroking Mr. Kumajiro's fur when the sound of a door slamming ricocheted through the house._

Italy yelped at the sudden sound and latched onto Germany.

_Matthew winced and set his book down on the table beside him. Seconds later, a disgruntled Alfred stormed in and sat down heavily on the couch opposite his older brother. "I can't believe the nerve of him!"_

_Standing up and putting Mr. Kumajiro on the floor, the purple-eyed colony walked over and sat next to his blue-eyed brother. "You're talking about Arthur?"_

" _He put another tax on my people. Another one!"_

_Matthew sighed. "Have you decided what you're going to do yet?"_

_Alfred's face softened and his eyes filled with anguish. "Yes...no. I don't know!" he cried. "My people are angry. They don't want to be part of the Empire anymore."_

" _And you?" Matthew whispered, knowing that whichever way his brother answered, nothing would ever be the same again._

_Alfred seemed to sense that too and shifted where he sat. "I want to see the world." he said softly. "I want to know what it is like being my own person. I don't want to be bossed around anymore. But at the same time, I'm scared."_

England clenched his jaw. "Damn right you should be scared." he growled. "Less than a century after declaring independence, you already had _two_ major wars! Even worse, you involved your brother in one and the other was a civil war. After not even a _century_ of being independent your people were fighting each other! You were not ready to be your own country."

Alfred looked down at the ground and didn't acknowledge that he had even heard what Arthur had said.

_Matthew put a hand on his brother's shoulder, fighting back tears. "Wait a little longer, please." he begged. "Try to talk to Arthur about it."_

" _Yeah, maybe." Alfred said, getting up from the couch._

_Matthew watched him leave the room and furrowed his eyebrows. Alfred, he knew, was impulsive and Matthew hoped they could all get through this together._

oO0Oo

When Matthew woke in the morning, he knew immediately that something was wrong. No sound came from the halls even though at this time Alfred would have already been awake and talking and laughing noisily as he ate breakfast.

America's eyes widened. He knew what had happened.

Careful not to wake Jett, Matthew crept out of bed and changed into his clothes, tucking his red shirt into his black pants he walked down the stairs.

Upon entering the kitchen, he saw only Toby sitting at the table, pushing around eggs on his plate. It seemed that none of the other colonies were awake yet. When Toby saw Matthew, his green eyes widened. "Matthew! Arthur told me he wanted to see you when you came downstairs."

Nodding his thanks at the small boy, Matthew left the kitchen and strode towards Arthur's office. The servants he passed wouldn't look at him, which Matthew though odd. They always said good morning to him when he woke. He wondered if it had anything to do with the argument he had heard last night.

Norway snorted. "Something tells me thing has _everything_ to do with that argument."

Matthew took a deep breath and rapped on the door.

"Come in." Arthur's voice said from behind the door.

Pushing the heavy slab of oak open, Matthew walked up to the desk. "Toby said you wanted to see me."

Arthur looked up from the papers he was writing and Matthew could see the pain that flickered momentarily in the green eyes when he saw his face. "Yes, please sit down."

Matthew sat wearily in the seat at the front of Arthur's desk. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, lad. You are the oldest of my colonies and the most mature and besides, you have a right to know, him being your brother and everything."

Matthew's heart sank. "What did Alfred do this time?"

"Nothing," Arthur growled. "Except declare a bloody war on me!"

oO0Oo

Matthew stood shadows in the rain on a muddy battlefield. He watched from the sidelines as Alfred and Arthur yelled at each other. He couldn't make out what was being said, but judging by the faces of the soldiers on either side, it wasn't anything good.

The two people mentioned winced. They had both said things they hadn't meant that day, forever crippling their relationship.

He drew in a startled breath and ran forwards to the front lines when Arthur charged Alfred, musket held high and pointed it at his former little brother. Matthew took a step back when Arthur lowered his musket and dropped to his knees in the mud.

"I can't shoot you. Dammit, I can't shoot you. Why did you have to do this? What happened to my little brother?"

The countries watching stood uncomfortably, realizing that what they were watching was extremely heart wrenching to the two sides of the war. England swallowed roughly, trying to contain his emotions.

Alfred stood tall and for the first time, Matthew realized that his brother looked older than him.

"I know what you mean, Birdie. When that happened with West, I went and got drunk out of my mind." Prussia slung an arm around Canada's shoulders.

Canada laughed.

The thought didn't sit well in his stomach and he felt a lump form in his throat. "I'm not your colony or your brother anymore. I'm an independent country now."

Matthew tried to look anywhere but his brother and Arthur and his eyes settled on a familiar Frenchman standing beside a Spaniard and a Prussian. _Francis_. Matthew's eyes burned at the smirk on his former colonizer's face. It had always been Francis and Matthew against Alfred and Arthur. When had things become so messed up? Why did things have to change?


	14. Golden Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of his brother's independance, Matthew seeks comfort in times where everything was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Otto Beilschmidt - Holy Roman Empire
> 
> This chapter I was told was a bit out of character and apparently slightly historically inaccurate. It's just a filler chapter, so you don't have to read it.

None of the countries spoke, the opposite sides of the war refusing to look at each other. How could anyone say anything? How were you supposed to react to the betrayal of brothers?

America broke the tension first by running to England and burying his face in the older man's shoulder like he used to do when he was a child. That caused France to walk up to Canada, biting his lip nervously, but he shouldn't have been frightened about Canada's reaction because the purple-eyed country copied his brother and hugged France. The two pairs stood like that for a long time, long enough for it to get really awkward for the other countries before they separated, eyes red.

"I think-" America's voice cracked with suppressed emotion and he cleared it before starting again. "I think we should continue to watch the memories."

The other nations turned their attention to the scene unfolding in front of them, secretly sneaking glances at the North American twins and their brothers out of the corners of their eyes.

Everything was silent in the dining room at Arthur's house. The only sounds were the soft scratching of silverware on china plates as the colonies of the British Empire ate their evening meal. The small children at the table were unusually subdued and didn't ask the millions of questions they usually did. Their eyes kept flicking up to the two empty chairs at the table before quickly returning to their plates.

Some of the former British colonies remembered those days. The Arthur they'd known had left and never really returned.

Matthew knew why. The empty chairs were usually occupied by the two people missing from the table; Arthur at the head of the table and Alfred on his right. It had only been a few weeks since his brother had declared independence and only five days since the other British colonies had been notified of Alfred leaving their household. One of Arthur's many island colonies sniffled and pushed his food around on his plate. Finally, Matthew couldn't stand the silence anymore. "Anyone know where Arthur is?" Matthew knew that Arthur was probably hiding somewhere, but he wanted to get his other siblings talking.

Jett looked up hesitantly. "I haven't seen him since you and he got back from…" He didn't finish and whatever gloom had been lifted when Matthew had spoke settled again on the colonies.

"Um, I heard from one of the servants that he's in his office." said the voice of Toby at the other end of the long table. "They said he locked himself in there and hasn't been out there in days, not even to eat or sleep."

Matthew gave a small smile to the younger boy. "Thanks. I think I'll bring him a cup of tea. Should cheer him up." Excusing himself, Matthew went into the kitchen in search of the teapot.

"Um," Spain said, trying not to make the tension in the 'room' worse. "You look a lot like America…" he trailed off, but the other countries caught on to his train of thought.

"This won't be good." agreed Finland.

oO0Oo

A half-hour later, Matthew stood outside Arthur's office, a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits on a tray in one hand, the other poised to knock on the door. Taking a deep breath, Matthew rapped at the door a few times.

"Enter." Arthur's voice came from behind the door.

Matthew pushed the door open and stepped inside. "Arthur, you haven't eaten in five days. I brought you tea."

"Five days?" asked Scotland, who despite not really liking his youngest brother, was feeling slightly concerned for him after the scene they'd just witnessed.

Arthur was busy writing something on the large stacks of paper on his desk and waved away Matthew statement. "Just set it over there. Thank you, Alfre-"

"Oh shit." muttered Romano.

He stopped abruptly and looked up at Matthew, pain visible in his eyes. "Get out. Get _out!"_ he cried, throwing his quill at his colony. Matthew ducked to avoid the sharpened point and the tray slipped out of his hands and hit the ground with a shattering noise. Matthew ran out the door, closing it just in time to hear the remainder of the smashed teacup hit the floor where he'd been standing.

_CLANG!_

"Bloody Hell, woman!" cried England, holding his head.

Hungary stood over him, frying pan raised in a silent threat before turning back to the memory.

Sliding to the floor with his back against the wall, Matthew put his head in his hands. Stupid, that's what he was. He should have known that his similarities to his brother would cause Arthur pain.

"Matt?" Green eyes appeared in Matthew's blurry vision. "Are you alright?"

Matthew looked up and saw Jett was standing above him, reaching out for Matthew in concern. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

"You've been crying."

Brushing at the wetness on his cheeks, Matthew realized that the small Australian was right. "It's nothing."

Jett shrugged. "Alright, if you're sure." His concerned expression broke into a grin. "Come on, Toby's set up a game of knights and horses in the parlour if you want to join!"

India nodded. "I remember that. The other colonies were too young to really understand the full consequences of America's actions. New Zealand, Australia, and I were the only ones that fully understood and we weren't in the mood to play games, but if it kept the smaller ones happy, we'd do it."

Australia flushed slightly and rubbed the back of his neck. "I have to admit, my real motivation was that I really did want to play knights and horses that day."

"Okay, let's go." Matthew accepted Jett's hand in helping him up and walked with the younger colony back to their siblings.

But when they got there, Matthew immediately regretted coming. The colonies were playing as though they had forgotten the brother who would never come back. Matthew was glad for that. The sooner the smaller children forgot Alfred, the sooner they could get back to a somewhat normal routine and a happier household.

"Nothing would ever be the same." murmured Canada.

No, that wasn't what bothered him. It was the memory that Matthew used to play with Alfred like that, back before Alfred had gotten the idea of independence in his head.

"Actually, I'm tired. I think I'll skip out this time." Jett didn't seem to hear Matthew, he already had a horse in his hand and was arguing with another colony about who got to be the evil king and the good king.

oO0Oo

Matthew collapsed in his bed, still fully clothed. Tears burned at the corners of his eyes and he hugged Mr. Kumajiro tighter, hoping to muffle his sobs. He had been doing fine forgetting the times he had spent with Alfred until he saw the other colonies spending time with each other like the siblings they were meant to be. They had spent less than seventeen years together as British colonies before Alfred had started the war, a mere second in the eyes of an immortal. Seventeen years, after being separated for more than a century. Eventually, Matthew gave into exhaustion and fell asleep, thinking of a time when the world was golden.

oO0Oo

" _You'll like my friends." Francis led a small Matthew by the hand into a large wooden and stone house on the edge of a town situated in the middle of a valley. "They both have colonies your age."_

_Matthew tightened his grip on Francis's hand. "What if they don't like me?"_

_Francis laughed. "I'm sure Gilbert and Antonio will like you, same with Otto. I don't know about Lovino, but he really doesn't like anybody."_

_The six-year-old furrowed his eyebrows. "If you say so."_

_Letting out another laugh, Francis banged the door knocker against the worn door and stepped back, waiting for someone to open it. He didn't have to wait long. Within seconds, the door flew open and Francis was lifted up by a white-haired man, who yelled, "Finally. I thought ve'd have to vait for jour un-awesomeness forever!"_

_Matthew let out a sound of surprise when the man dropped Francis and was revealed to have not only white hair, but crimson red eyes. Even though it was peacetime, the man wore a sword at his side and through the crack between his papa and the man, Matthew could see a collection of armor, chainmail, and weapons. In all, this was one of the strangest men Matthew had ever met._

Prussia let out a bark of laughter. "I'm going to take that as a compliment."

Canada smiled softly. "At the time, I don't think I meant it to be one."

_Francis ushered Matthew into the house and the man took notice of him for the first time. He pointed at Matthew and said, "Can I have him?"_

_Francis drew Matthew slightly closer. "No."_

_The man shrugged. "Whatever."_

"Prussia!"

The albino hid behind Canada, trying to hide from Hungary.

_A new man entered the room. "Are you guys coming? The drinks have been poured and the food's getting cold." This man had curly brown hair, lightly tanned skin, and green eyes. His smile was so bright, it seemed to light up the room._

" _Matthieu." Francis said, catching Matthew's attention again. He pointed to the red-eyed man and the tanned man. "That's Gilbert and that's Antonio."_

_Antonio bent down to Matthew's height and grinned. "You must be Francis's newest colony. What's your name?"_

_Matthew peeked out from behind Francis's legs. "M-Matthieu."_

" _Aw, stop it, 'Toni. Francis won't let us have him." Gilbert said, before his tone softened. "Lovino and Otto are in the other room if you want to join them."_

_Hesitantly, Matthew looked up at Francis, who nodded encouragingly and gestured towards a door that was slightly ajar. Pushing a loose lock of hair behind his ear, Matthew stumbled over to the room and peeked inside, lingering in the doorway for a few moments._

Italy let out an agonized cry at what he saw. He sniffed, trying to keep his tears from his eyes. He didn't want to miss a second of seeing Holy Rome.

_Two boys sat on a carpet inside, bickering with each other. One boy sat with his back to the door and wore a black hat and cloak that shielded most of his appearance from Matthew. He was sharpening a sword and occasionally taking a drawing from his coat and looking at it, before putting it back where it had come from. The other boy wore light coloured breeches and a green vest over a white shirt. The boy's eyes were the same shade of green as the summer grass Matthew ran through in the prairies back home. His hair was dark brown with a strange curl on the front of his head. He seemed to be yelling at the cloaked boy, though Matthew didn't know why._

"Because he was being a Bastardo." said Romano, as though that explained everything.

_Suddenly, the cloaked boy held a hand up. "Lovino, silence yourself. We have a visitor."_

_Matthew squeaked when they both turned to look at him. "H-hello, I'm Matthieu. My Papa is Francis. He-he told me to come here."_

_The cloaked boy smiled. "Welcome, Matthieu. I'm Otto and this is Lovino. We've been waiting to meet you for awhile now."_

_Lovino scowled. "No, we haven't, Bastardo. And I can introduce myself just fine."_

_Matthew grinned and looked into Otto's eyes. The deep blue reminded him of his rivers when the sunlight reflected off the water. "Can I join you?"_

Germany studied Otto in confusion. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about this boy seem familiar. 'The eyes.' he realized. 'We have the same eyes.'

_Otto tucked his drawing back into his pocket. "Sure."_

oO0Oo

_Otto, Lovino, and Matthew sat atop a hill looking down at the house below. This was the third time Matthew had gone with Francis over to Gilbert's house and he found himself not wanting to leave when it was time to go._

_Suddenly, a shout of pain broke Matthew from his thoughts. Lovino jumped up and held his finger. "It bit me!" he cried. Then he caught sight of the retreating squirrel and ran down the hill after him, yelling Italian curses and insults as he went._

Spain snickered, then yelped as Romano whacked him on the head.

_Matthew giggled, but stopped when he noticed Otto take the drawing from his cloak again. After a moment of debate, he mustered up the courage to ask the question that had been bugging him for awhile. "Who's the girl in the picture?"_

_Otto jumped and blushed. "Her name is Italia."_

_Matthew tilted his head. "Strange name." Then he grinned. "Do you like her?"_

" _Um, well, you see-" Otto started stammering and Matthew laughed. Flushing, he crossed his arms and pouted. "Stop laughing at me!"_

Italy buried his face in Germany's chest, crying silently as he realized his lost love carried his picture around with him.

_The sun was shining, the flowers were blooming, Lovino was cursing and Otto was acting like a lovesick fool. Matthew couldn't imagine a better day._

oO0Oo

Matthew woke up with a startled gasp. Blinking a few times to adjust his eyes to the light coming through the window, his grin slowly faded as he remembered that what he had dreamed was just that, a dream. A dream of days that were no more.

"Everything must come to an end." said Russia. "Otherwise the world would be a perfect place."

China nodded. "Even the greatest dynasties must fall at some point."

'At least,' Matthew mused. 'Alfred wasn't there. I don't think I could stand seeing his face so soon.'

At the same time, Matthew wished that the only memories that didn't cause him pain were memories without his brother. He wished that he could return to a time when he and his brother roamed the woods with their mother, not a care in the world. He wished he could return to simpler times.


	15. Queenston Heights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So now we get to the beginning of one of the most well-known wars in Canadian history. This is something Matthew isn't sure his brotherly bond with Alfred can bounce back from.

"Master Williams, a letter has come for you."

Matthew turned to see one of the butlers walking towards him in the grand entryway. Matthew had just finished his lessons for the day and was planning to go outside and bask in the fading autumn sunlight. The servant handed Matthew a creamy coloured envelope and bowed, retreating to the door. Matthew turned the letter over and his heart nearly stopped. The return address stated that the sender was from America and Matthew had a pretty good idea of who it was. Quickly glancing around to make sure Arthur wasn't nearby, Matthew stuffed the letter into his pocket and headed out into the back of the estate. He walked across the green grass, breathing in the crisp air that came before a thunderstorm until he came to his favourite hiding place; a large apple tree at the edge of Arthur's property. Grasping for the branch, Matthew pulled himself up until he got to a spot about 20 feet off the ground where the branch split in two and formed a 'V' shape that was perfect for sitting in.

America grinned. "I remember that tree! We used to hid there from England all the time."

Canada smiled at the memory. "If I remember correctly, we only found the tree _because_ we were trying to escape England after you put salt in his tea."

Several countries laughed as the memories continued.

Settling down in the crook of the beach Matthew picked an apple from the tree as he opened the envelope.

The writing was messy and slanted like the person had written it quickly or with a lot of emotion, but it was definitely Alfred's.

_Dear Matthew,_

_I know I haven't written since I declared independence,_

"You didn't write to your Fratello after your independence?" Italy squeaked.

_but I didn't know if Arthur would even allow you to get this letter._

"Damn right I wouldn't."

_How are things with you? Being my own country is great. I like my current president and the economy is thriving. Or was, until Arthur blocked my trading with the rest of Europe! The man is even trying to take some of my ships and recruit them to the British side._

Glares were shot at the green-eyed former empire, who for his credit, didn't look very ashamed.

_And did you hear what happened with the Chesapeake?_

Matthew had. It had been in the papers he'd received several weeks before. Though he didn't approve of Arthur's actions, some dark, selfish part of him revealed in the fact that Alfred was being punished for leaving their family.

America winced.

_Anyways, I didn't write this letter to complain about Arthur (much), but I have a proposition for you. My boss has been thinking, what if you joined me and became part of my country?! I could get you away from Arthur's tyrannical rule and you and me could be the greatest country in the world. Maybe even form an empire of our own. What do you say?_

Matthew couldn't read the rest of the letter because he was crushing it in his fist. What was Alfred thinking? Was his brother really so naive to think that Matthew would give up his nation to be ruled by his little brother? Even if he left Arthur, he'd be trading one pair of shackles for another.

"I didn't think of it like that." said America sheepishly.

Prussia rolled his eyes. "Zhat much is obvious."

Despite what Alfred said about the two of them sharing a country, Matthew knew that eventually, Alfred would rule or Matthew would fade. Or both.

Crumpling the paper into a ball, his hands trembled as he descended the tree and went into the house, throwing the paper in the fireplace as he passed by. He wouldn't become part of Alfred's country.

oO0Oo

Over the next couple of years, Matthew received several more of the same type of letter, all of which asked him to join his brother, none of which he replied to.

He was eating dinner with the rest of the colonies and Arthur when the news came. The table was silent as they ate, the colonies sneaking glances at Matthew, who winced as another wave of pain flashed through him. He didn't know what was happening. His head throbbed and when he opened his eyes, black spots danced in front of him. Something was happening on his land, he knew it.

Their dinner was interrupted by a knock on the dining room door. At Arthur's call of 'Enter', the butler handed him a letter and murmured a few hushed words into Arthur's ear. The colonies at the table were still as Arthur unfolded the letter, his face turning redder with every sentence he read. Finally, Arthur folded the letter back up and stuffed it in his jacket, sighing through his nose. "Matthew." With a start, the purple-eyed nation realized that Arthur was talking to him. "There no easy way to say this. The Americans are invading Canada."

_CLANG!_

"Geez." America said as he rubbed his head. "I'm sorry for what I did. I apologized to Canada centuries ago!"

'Well,' Matthew thought dryly as all the other colonies turned to look at him. 'That explains the headache.'

"No, really?" asked France, glaring at America.

oO0Oo

Matthew stood at attention with many other young men, watching as Major-General Sir Isaac Brock walked down the line, inspecting the new recruits. After finding out that Alfred was invading his nation, Matthew had gotten on the first ship bound for England to enlist. As Brock strode closer, Matthew straightened, trying to look like what the General would expect from the nation, he was trying to protect even if he didn't know that said nation was personified.

"Men!" Brock addressed the soldiers gathered. Matthew thought calling them 'men' was a little bit of an overstatement. Matthew himself look only fifteen and most of the soldiers were farm boys no older than twenty. He was pretty sure he even saw several kids younger than him in the line.

Sealand frowned. "That's really sad."

"What?" England spluttered, turning to locate the voice. "Why are you here?"

Before the two could get into another argument, the memories continued.

"Today, you stand tall and proud to defend your empire and it's lands. We will show the Yankees not to mess with the British Empire."

A cheer resonated down the line of assembled soldiers and even Matthew couldn't keep a grin off his face imagining what Alfred would say if he could see him now.

"I would demand you go home." said the blue-eyed nation.

"I didn't see you cowering in your house." retorted his brother. "So why should I? Besides, I'm the older brother."

Then the grin faded. Alfred was the only reason he was here now.

oO0Oo

Matthew limped on the battlefield, uniform soaked in blood. He wasn't sure how much of it was his. He fired his musket again and again until it ran out of bullet, stabbing enemies with his bayonet when it did. The blood was soaking his leg now and Matthew knew it was coming from the wound on the back of his thigh, courtesy of the battle that was right now begin waged on the heights of Queenston in Upper Canada. Men fell around him, but he couldn't find his brother in the fray. That didn't surprise him. His brother was probably nursing his wounds after losing his army at Detroit a few months earlier.

America grimaced at the reminder. He'd lost a lot of good men there.

People ran around him, attacking each other. British and American soldiers, Native warriors. Boys turned into men on a bloody battlefield.

"That was almost poetic." said England, frowning at Canada's analogy of the war.

Glancing around frantically, Matthew saw Major-General Sir Isaac Brock and made his way toward him.

That's when everything went wrong. Matthew heard the gunshot. It somehow stood out from every other noise in the surrounding area. Matthew saw the flash of the bullet as it sped towards Brock. When the bullet connected, the man went down.

Giving a cry, Matthew pushed through the other men to get to the General, but when he got there, the man wasn't moving. Matthew pressed his head to Brock's chest as medics ran towards them, searching for any sign of a heartbeat.

There was none.

There was a moment of silence in respect for the fallen General.

"He seemed like a good man." said Germany finally.

"He was." Canada said, though he sounded far away.

The next few hours passed in a blur for Matthew. Wading through a sea of men, hesitating slightly everytime an injured ally called his name before walking away and stabbing more enemies with his bayonet. Matthew's leg throbbed with every step and the side of his face was coated in Brock's blood. He gave a sigh of relief when one of his brother's Lieutenant Colonels waved a white handkerchief high above the fighting, signaling the American surrender.

Matthew fell to his knees in the dirt, laughing. He knew it was a hysterical laugh. There he was, kneeling amongst the dead and wounded, bathed in blood, and he was _laughing_. The only thing he could think was that he _won_.


	16. Sacking of York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew is never quite sure if he can forgive Alfred for what he's done, but then Alfred has to go and do something worse.

There was silence from the assembled nations and Canada shifted uncomfortably under their gazes. The hysterical laugh still rang in his ears and he knew that he'd looked like a maniac. Canada fiddled with his pant leg, right above where he knew the scar would be as the memories continued.

The straw-filled mattress sank under Matthew's weight as he stretched out on it, exhausted from the day's training. It had been more than six months since his division had last seen battle, though he'd heard of other fights being fought on his brother's lands. 'No,' Matthew had to remind himself. 'Alfred gave up that relationship when he attacked.'

America, though slightly stunned from the last memory, winced at the dismissal of their brotherhood.

He shifted uncomfortably on his pallet and sat up, absentmindedly rubbing the scar on his left thigh, a parting gift from Queenston Heights. He hated the fighting and hoped it would end soon. With a start, he realized that it had been almost a year since he'd come home. A year without Mr. Kumakakachi. A year without seeing his colonial siblings. A year of selfish bloodshed.

Japan bowed his head. "Most broodshed now is serfish and accomprishing of anything worthwhile."

He wondered what Alfred was doing now. Was he planning another attack or was he relaxing with his president? His bro- _Alfred's_ silence was bothering him. Usually, he could count on the reports that his spies returned with as news about his brother. Lately, though, nothing of interest had come up.

"Cheer up, Matt!" A hand clapped him roughly on the shoulder and Matthew turned to see Charles sit on the mattress beside him. "We'll see some action again soon and will be able to kick those bastard all the way to America!"

Several nations winced at the tactless remark, though none of them blamed Charles.

A roar of approval sounded through the tent when the other soldiers heard what Charles had said, but Matthew just laughed slightly. "It's not that. I'm just worried."

"About what?" Charles moved to lean against the wall with his hands behind his head. "We'll beat them." he said confidently.

Matthew hesitated. Should he say it? 'Ah, screw it.' he thought. 'Alfred's my brother no matter what.'

America sniffed. "Thanks bro."

"Don't worry." Canada slung an arm around America's shoulder. "You're my little brother. Nothing you do will change that."

Mustering his courage, he spoke. "About my younger brother."

"He'll be fine. Safe at home, probably feeding chickens or chasing girls as we speak." Charles made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

"He's a Yankee and he joined up." The room fell silent and Matthew looked down, unable to meet anyone's eyes.

"That's unfortunate." Charles said, his bearded face turning into a frown as he sat up.

"Yeah, it is."

After a few moments of awkward silence, the talk turned to the soldiers families. Matthew listened intently, but said nothing as the other, mostly older men, talked. He was missing his own family and, for the first time in a long time, thought of the warmth of Francis's embrace during the Seven Years War when he'd promised on many occasions that he wouldn't surrender. Now Matthew had to demonstrate the same kind of courage, only fighting family made it a thousand times harder.

England cast a guilty look at Scotland. "You got that right, lad."

A man only a few years older than Matthew, maybe twenty, burst through the tent waving a letter. "It's a girl!" The man Matthew knew to be named Benjamin had been waiting eagerly for several weeks now on the fate of his pregnant wife and the unknown child. "She's named Isabelle!"

Matthew grinned and reminded himself that this was why he was fighting.

"For the future of our countries that rests in the hands of our children." said Spain. "That's why we all fight, amigo."

So that Isabelle and all children like her could grow old in a country free from the Americans. The blond boy stood, intending to congratulate the soldier, but he only took a few steps before pain flared in his chest. Flashes of what was happening burst through his mind. Men in American uniforms knocking out a town's batteries. A battle at the city's garrison between the American and the poorly prepared defenders. A powder magazine being lit on fire. The explosion that follow. Matthew noticed, with grim satisfaction, that many of Alfred's men were taken out in that explosion.

Canada shifted uncomfortably again as countries glanced at him out of the corners of their eyes.

A buzzing broke through the foggy haze that had surrounded him. " _-tthew. Matthew._ Matthew!" A voice, but who did it belong to? A blurry, bearded face appear in his vision.

Charles.

Matthew tried calling out to him, but the bigger man hushed him and laid the purple-eyed colony on his cot. Matthew vaguely heard the order for a medic to be brought to the tent, but it was muffled, like it came from underwater. The images came quicker now. Men lying in pieces on blood-slick ground near the magazine, which had now been reduced to bits of rubble. Rocks crushed the American troops and Matthew smiled darkly, lips and teeth coated with blood. His chest was burning now, the pain becoming unbearable. He let out a cry that was soon choked back as he coughed, blood dribbling down his chin.

"Yuck!" said Sealand, looking away.

For once, England didn't berate him for being there, but rather put a hand over the micronation's eyes so the child didn't have to see that images playing in front of them.

'They're burning the parliament building.' Matthew realized.

He tried to sit up, but hands pushed him back down. A man stood over him with a bag of surgical tools. A doctor. The doctor peeled back Matthew's shirt to look at the injury and pain coursed through him as everything went black.

oO0Oo

The first thing Matthew noticed when he came to was the bandage wrapped tightly around his upper chest, restricting his movement but not his breathing. The next thing he noticed was the man sitting next to him. Matthew knew him, even though he'd never met him. Sir Roger Hale Sheaffe, the man who taken Brock's place of command. The air in the tent was cool as Matthew's skin hit it, having removed te blanket moments before. Propping himself up on an elbow, hiding his grimace at the slight pain that flared when he moved, Matthew saluted the man. "Apologies for my state, sir."

Sheaffe nodded in acceptance. "Private Williams. How do you feel?"

"Alright, sir."

"Good. Because I have a few questions to ask you." It was clear by his tone that this was why Sheaffe was here, not to look after the wellbeing of his soldiers.

Italy frowned. "That's mean. He doesn't care whether or not you get better."

Sheaffe sat forwards. "How old are you?"

"F-fifteen, sir. I think." Matthew stumbled over the age. What had he written on the recruiting form again?

Palms met faces all around the room, the nations watching not believing that Matthew couldn't even remember what he'd written as his age to get into the army.

"You think?"

"I am fifteen, sir." Matthew said again, more confidently.

"Then how is it you have so many scars?"

Matthew mumbled a curse under his breath in one of his many native languages. "Battle wounds, sir?" It came out more as a question than a statement.

"I don't think so." Sheaffe leaned forwards in his chair and Matthew sat up, gritting his teeth as his chest throbbed. "Some of those scars are old. Too old for a man your apparent age to have. In addition, the wound you got is severe and appeared out of nowhere. How did you get it?"

"I fell, sir." Matthew could feel beads of sweat making their way down his neck. This conversation was heading in a dangerous direction.

"Damn right it is." said Romano, eyeing Canada.

"It's a burn, Williams. A large burn."

Australia grinned. "That's right, mates. I got a large burn from tripping over a rock on my morning trip to the loo."

"Shut up." grumbled Canada, though it lacked hostility.

"Damn." Matthew muttered.

"So I'm going to ask you again. How did you get it?"

Matthew licked his lips. Since when was his mouth so dry? "I-I don't know, sir."

Sheaffe sat back, looking slightly pleased with himself, like a suspicion had just been conferminded. "I have a theory. Would you like to heard it?"

Matthew nodded. Sheaffe would tell him whether he wanted him to or not.

"You don't know your exact age. Your scars are older than you appear to be. Wounds appear on your flesh when are attacked."

Matthew sat forwards quickly, then immediately regretted the action as his chest screamed i pain. "We were attacked? Where?"

France pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I've gotten better!" Canada protested. "This was the first time anyone had question me about my existence. Give me a break!"

Giving a slight nod, the corners of Sheaffe's mouth quirked up in a small grin. "York. The Americans sacked the city and burned the parliament building. But you didn't deny my reasoning and your mind immediately jumped to the attack. What are you, Private Williams?"

"An idiota, just like his bastard brother."

"Romano!"

There was a moment of silence as Matthew contemplated his answer. Brock hadn't known, but Arthur sometimes told his high-ranking officers. Making up his mind, Matthew took a deep breath. "Hear me out, sir. I'm not insane." Sheaffe nodded in consent. "I'm not exactly sure what I am. My mother told me once that I was the land, but Arthur says that we're more like it's immortal representations. Arthur is England and my mother was Native America." he said when Sheaffe tilted his head. "And I'm the personification of British North America, also known as Canada." He waited with bated breath for an outburst, but Sheaffe just waved his hand for the boy to continue. "I look to be fifteen, but I've looked that way for the past century and a half, give or take a decade. Whenever there is fighting on my land, I am also hurt, hence the scars. I cannot be wounded by mortals, but if a nation inflict harm upon me during war, the wound will stay on my body as a permanent scar, a reminder, I guess, of what happened."

There was silence for a few moments as Sheaffe considered that. "Does anyone else know?"

"No, sir. Technically, I'm not supposed to tell you. If you say a word about this to anyone, it will considered treason against the Empire and I will be forced to erase your memory."

Sheaffe looked startled at Matthew's bold tone, but agreed to keep the conversation a secret. He moved to leave, but stopped in the doorway. Without turning back to look at Matthew, he said, "Your brother, the one you told the other soldiers was a Yankee, I suppose he's the personification of America." Without waiting for Matthew answer, he continued. "We'll make sure he doesn't forget the fight we put up to protect Canada for a long time."

America shivered slightly. He remembered what Canada's revenge had been. If the other nations noticed, they didn't say anything.

Matthew didn't know what he meant by that, but looking down at his bandaged chest, he felt himself anticipating the day when Sheaffe's word would become reality.


	17. Beaver Dams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Matthew and Alfred see each other face to face since Alfred burned down Matthew's Parliament.

America winced, this time more visibly, and Canada walked over to his brother and pulled him into a hug. "I don't mean it. I was upset and hurt. If I could go back in time, I would stop myself and Sheaffe before we hurt you. I wouldn't wish that pain on anyone." Canada murmured against his brother's shoulder. He wasn't entirely sure if he was being truthful about stopping Sheaffe, and America knew it, but it was nice to at least say the words.

The brothers stood like that for a few more seconds, before they parted, aware of the eyes that were on them.

"Canada...what did you do?" asked Norway slowly.

Making a waving gesture, Canada dismissed the question, though there was pain in his eyes. "Nothing except what I thought was appropriate at the time. I'm sure the memory will be shown. It's too important to skip."

Matthew was cleaning his bayonet when he heard the shouting start. Getting up slowly, full of confusion, he made his way to the central common area where the soldiers usually gathered for meals. When he got there, he stopped dead in his tracks. In the distance, he could see a short figure slowly making their way into camp, accompanied by what looked like several first nations warriors, the rising sun shadowing their features as they came over the hill. Slightly nervous, Matthew looked at the other soldiers standing beside him. A few of them were muttering about American tricks and had their rifles trained on the person slowly limping into view. Matthew's eyesight was sharper than most, with many years of hunting prey from a distance and his nation abilities, so he identified the figure first. "Don't shoot her!"

"Her?" asked Germany.

Breaking through the lines and ignoring the shouts of the other men to come back, Matthew slung the rifle he had been cleaning over his shoulder and ran towards the woman, catching her just as her legs gave out.

"Good save, lad." England said.

"Are you alright?" Matthew asked, placing her arm over his shoulders and helping her walk to camp, nodding his thanks to the warriors who had escorted her this far.

The woman lifted her head. Her hair was coated in so much dirt and mud that Matthew couldn't tell if it was brown or if that was just from the grime covering it. Her eyes were tired but alert as she studied him. "I have a message for Lieutenant Fitzgibbon."

"The Lieutenant is just in camp, can you make it there?" The two were within a hundred yards of the rest of the men and Matthew could see that they were now lowering their weapons in confusion as they beheld the ragged figure Matthew was helping. The purple-eyed colony knew that they were confused on whether or not this was an American trick, but Matthew knew otherwise. Nothing about the woman suggested a trick or a trap and Matthew knew that if the Americans were preparing for battle on his land, he'd feel it. They'd passed the other men now and were approaching the tent that the Lieutenant had as a command center. Here, the native warriors stopped and waited for Matthew to do something, shifting on their feet under the gazes of the soldiers that stared at them. Pushing the flap aside with one hand, Matthew coughed to announce their presence and saluted when Fitzgibbon turned to look at him.

The woman took her arm from around Matthew's shoulders and curtsied the best she could in her state. "Sir, my name is Laura Secord. I come from Queenston with urgent news about the American troops. When my husband was injured in battle, we were forced to take some American officers into our home. A few days ago, I overheard them speaking of an attack on the British troops at Beaver Dams. I set out immediately to warn you." Here she breathed a sigh of relief, as though a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. "I'm glad I found you, sir. The American troops are now probably within a few days of the attack and I beg you to act quickly."

Fitzgibbon nodded and looked thoughtful for a moment, before addressing Laura. "You say that you come from Queenston? That is a long trek, about 32 kilometers."

America opened his mouth to ask a question, but Canada cut him off. "20 miles."

The Lieutenant turned to Matthew. "See to it that she is given a place to rest."

As Matthew turned and began walking towards the exit, Laura Secord's arm once again around his shoulders, Fitzgibbon spoke once more. "And Mrs. Secord? That was very brave. Thank you."

France let out a low whistle. "32 kilometers through enemy territory? A brave woman indeed." His gaze was far away, as though remembering another brave woman from his past.

oO0Oo

The next day, Matthew marched with the 49 other men recruited to oversee the American attack at Beaver Dams, slightly scared of what he would find when he got there. He was wary for two reasons. The first was that Alfred might be there and he wasn't sure how he would react when he saw his traitorous brothers again. The second reason was that his first nation warriors leading the attack and had the Americans on the verge of surrender. Having lived with many different tribes for centuries, Matthew knew what native warriors did to their prisoners of war and he was worried that there might be damage he couldn't fix if they got there before the official surrender of his brother's troops.

Soon, the sounds of battle became apparent in Matthew's ears and he, along with everyone else, picked up the pace of their march. Gunfire rang through the air and was only broken by the war cries of Matthew's native people. Matthew broke through the tree line to see a full battle under way. The Americans were panicked and had made a defensive group near one end of the battlefield, surrounded by first nations men who waved their tomahawks and brandished their guns with every movement from an enemy soldier. Matthew broke into a run, the formation of the reinforcements crumbling as the British soldiers ran to join the fight. Purple eyes scanned the American troops, looking for a matching face with blue eyes, but Matthew couldn't see his brother.

Wait, there he was.

Alfred stood apart from his men, one of the only men standing alone in the field, firing shot after shot at the native warriors. Matthew surged forwards, intent on making sure his brother regretted ever attacking him, but someone else got there first. Within seconds of that thought appearing, one of the British men Matthew had come with leveled his gun and fired at Alfred, hitting him directly in the neck. Blood blossomed from Alfred's neck and a confused expression crossed his face before he collapsed, body falling limp on the hard dirt ground with a almost inaudible _thump_.

Italy winced and America subconsciously touched his neck, right where there should have been a bullet scar.

The warrior the British soldier had saved nodded his thanks at the man before swiftly moving on to where his brothers-in-arms held the terrified Americans at the other end of the field. Matthew felt his heart flutter in his chest. Alfred wasn't moving. The blue-eyed nation laid completely still on the ground, not even a breath moving in his chest. To be honest, Matthew wasn't exactly sure how he felt about that. On one hand, his brother got what was coming for him, going ahead with the attack even after being spotted by the first nation scouts. On the other hand, if the Lieutenant or Sheaffe found out that the personification of America was captured, Matthew knew what would happen to Alfred, probably at the hands of his native warriors. Matthew had seen it done many times when his tribes captured an enemy, and it was not something he would wish on his little brother, attacker or not.

"What do they do?" Sealand piped up curiously.

"Um," Canada winced. How do you explain something like scalping to a child?

Prussia saved him. "Zhey make zhem cook all zhe desserts and zhen zhe warriors ate zhem all without sharing."

Sealand looked between the two, wide eyed in horror.

Making up his mind, Matthew looked around to make sure no one was watching and scurried towards his brother.

"Alfred," Matthew hissed. "You've got to get out of here."

"You're letting him go." China said, in slight awe. "Just last chapter you were talking about revenge, aru."

Canada shrugged. "Like I said, I wouldn't leave my little brother to the Native warriors. Besides," Canada winced a little. "I got my revenge."

America rubbed his collarbone through his shirt as the memory washed over him.

There was a groan and Alfred pushed himself up into a sitting position, holding his head like it pained him. The bullet wound on his neck had already healed. A large splatter of blood was now the only evidence anything had happened. "Wha-" Alfred stopped when he realized who was kneeling in front of him. "Matthew! I-I-" he looked around shakily at the scene of his troops surrendering to the British men.

"I'm going to let you go, Alfred." Matthew looked his brother dead in the eyes, his voice hard. "Run, and don't come back. If you do, there's nothing I can do to help you."

"I- thank you, Mattie."

"Don't call me that."

"Right, sorry. Thank you, _Matthew_. I'm sorry, by the way, for what happened in York." Alfred scrambled to his feet, retreating as he said those words.

Matthew's eyes hardened. "You are _not_ forgiven. Be careful, little brother. The worst is yet to come."

America whimpered slightly and Canada buried his head in Mr. Kumajiro's fur, ashamed of what he'd done to his little brother. His dark side scared him and sometimes, he didn't realize what he'd done until it was over.

The other nations watched the two in nervous silence. Anything that could make a world superpower scared would be truly terrible.

Alfred swallowed nervously, catching a glimpse of his soldiers one last time before he turned and ran into the woods.

Letting out a sigh, Matthew turned to join his regiment, no hint in his body language that he'd just let an enemy escape. Soldiers grinned and clapped him on the back, the low casualties on their sides seemed to give them a moral boost, but Matthew's mind was elsewhere. He'd let Alfred go this time, but if he caught his brother again, there would be no mercy.


	18. Matthew's Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew finally gets his chance to enact revenge against Alfred, and it's not pretty.

There was silence as the nations processed Matthew's thoughts, broken only by Prussia, who gave a low whistle. "Who knew Birdie had such a dark side."

Spain nodded. "You do have to remember, however, who he was raised by." When other countries looked at him for an explanation, he said, "He was found first by bloodthirsty Vikings, then raised for centuries by ruthless aboriginal warriors. He probably calmed down a bit when France found him, but even then, he was raised amidst war. Finally, he was traded into the hands of an empire, and not a kind one at that. I don't really fault him for having a dark side."

England bristled at Spain's jab at his past but didn't say anything.

"Even still," Canada mumbled, "I was wrong to hurt Alfred."

His brother put a hand on Canada's shoulder but didn't say anything.

The sun shone brightly overhead as Matthew and the rest of the men that had landed on the shores of the Patuxent River as they marched towards the American capital.

America paled. He knew what was going to happen soon.

It was so humid that day, Matthew thought he might melt into a puddle in his boots and he would give pretty much anything to lie down in the shade and rest for awhile. Sweat trickled down his neck and he was thankful that his hair was tied at the nape of his neck so that it wouldn't stick to the skin on his face. Charles marched next to him, breathing heavily in the hot August day. Glancing up, Charles squinted at the sky. "Looks like it'll be a nice day today."

"I don't know," Matthew say, copying Charles in looking to the clouds. "I don't like how humid it is. Might rain later tonight."

"Well, we'll be all done by then, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Vhat vould jou be all done?" Germany asked slowly.

The two marched in silence with the other men, all attention focused on the road they were following, Matthew's mind slowly becoming only focused on putting one foot in front of another. He knew they'd have to be getting near their destination, they'd been walking for six days already, but the road seemed never ending and eternal. It reminded Matthew of the prairies he would traverse with his mother and brother before he was colonized. Matthew's heart sank even lower than it already felt, thinking of how long it'd been since he'd spent time with any sort of family. He hadn't even seen Arthur since he'd left England to join in the war, Arthur saying that the war wasn't important enough for him to be distracted from the other affairs in Europe to come to fight with a colony.

England winced under the harsh glares that were sent his way.

He wondered what his British Empire siblings were doing right now, and if any of the younger ones even remembered him.

"Of course we did," Australia said softly. "They would ask every day when you would be home."

Canada smiled sadly. He'd wished he had been at Arthur's home instead of being where he was.

He'd tried to send letters back whenever he could, but there was no guarantee that the ships with the letters on them even reached a British port, what with the threat of American ships attacking their own and everything.

Matthew shifted his rifle's position over his shoulder. His eyes drifted up just as the shores of their first destination came into view; the hastily arranged garrison of American militia defending the first stop on the road to the capital. There, on the shores of Potomac River, the 4500 British men fought off the 7000 Americans stationed near the river. Matthew didn't remember much, his head too far in the battle mindset to pay attention to much else. Men fell around him. The river ran red with blood. Matthew counted at least 200 of his men lying dead or dying on the rocky shores, their bodies lying still on the slick rocks. The fight was over quickly, and with the Americans in retreat, Matthew and the remaining British troops advanced towards Washington.

Italy squeaked in terror and hugged Germany tighter when Matthew turned to face the invisible countries, face hard and mouth set in a determined line.

Charles ran up next to Matthew, limping slightly. Matthew turned his head towards his friend in concern. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Charles said, then gave a grimace as he took another step. "Bayonet grazed my leg. I'm fine. The question is if _you_ are. I still don't know why you insisted on coming with us, especially since your last injury isn't a month old." Charles shook his head. "Why you were even allowed to come…" He trailed off as Matthew's thoughts consumed his mind.

He knew what wound Charles was talking about and what battle had caused it. Less than a month before, Matthew had been on his way to the training grounds when he'd collapsed, his right calf screaming in pain. According to the physician he'd seen when he'd woken up, Matthew had been unconscious for several hours. It was only later he'd found out what had happened on his land. Matthew hadn't been a part of the battle, but he'd heard the stories from the survivors. The Battle of Lundy's Lane was said to be one of the bloodiest battles fought on Matthew's lands so far in the war, with over 900 casualties on each side.

Germany clenched his jaw, remembering what it had been like at the Battle of Moscow, men lying silently in death, no matter their allegiance. By the tightening of Russia's hand on his pipe, Germany knew Russia was thinking about the same thing.

Some of that Matthew had seen in his dreams; the blood and screaming, his brother yelling for the retreat to Fort Erie. He didn't realize how many men had died until he heard the number for himself and even then, he couldn't believe it.

They fell into silence as they continued marching, not speaking for hours until the shout came that they had reached the capital. That shook Matthew from his thoughts and he picked up the pace into a jog as buildings came into view. He nodded to Charles once more before they split up, each going to a different part of the city, Charles heading down to the navy yard and Matthew running towards the White House.

oO0Oo

Matthew looked around the destruction the British had caused the city in the hour they'd been occupying it. The Capitol Building was ablaze, the navy yards in ruins, and several other government buildings were piles of rubble. Matthew himself hadn't participated in the destruction yet, he was waiting for the time to start a certain privilege Sheaffe had given him. A hand tapped his shoulder and Matthew whirled around to see one of his commanding officers looking at him with a grim face. "Is it time, sir?"

"Yes, Williams. Why General Sheaffe allowed you this, I don't know, but follow me."

Matthew obeyed and was led to a pile of wood soaked in oil and propped against the white walls of Alfred's government building. Glaring at the wood, Matthew took a flint and steel out of his pocket and struck it a few times, landing a spark on the oil which quickly spread, consuming the wood in fire. Matthew stepped back, the fire turning his face a golden orange as he bathed in it's destructive light. Breathing in the smoky air, Matthew let out a sigh. It was done.

The nations stared in horror at the memory. They didn't know if they were more horrified by what Matthew had done or that fact that he was doing it so calmly. Every one of them knew that the worst wounds a nation got were from when their capital was damaged and seeing Matthew burn his brother's capital was...disturbing.

A pained gasp came from behind him and Matthew whirled around, not reaching for his gun, but instead for his knife.

Alfred crumpled to his knees in front of Matthew, pain flickering in his eyes as they filled with tears. The blue-eyed country's shirt was smoldering and slowly. A hole was burning through the fabric over his heart. For a moment, Matthew felt a spark of guilt as he looked at his little brother before he roughly pushed it away. Alfred deserved this. After all, it was only what he had done to Matthew.

"An eye for an eye onry makes the entire worrd go brind." murmured Japan, still in slight shock. No one would ever expect this level of violence from the shy Canadian, especially towards his baby brother whom he was so protective of.

Matthew grabbed his brother's burning collar and yanked him up to his feet, pressing the knife against his throat and baring his teeth. "It's what you deserve." he hissed.

Sweden felt his stomach give a sickening lurch as he realized the knife Matthew was holding against his brother's throat was the one they'd given him.

"Canada," Finland said softly, almost inaudibly, "When they gave you the knife, I don't think that's what they wanted the knife used for."

"Please Mattie, it hurts so much. Please, make it stop. _Please_." Alfred's shirt had burned away, making Matthew readjust his grip on his brother's shirt and revealing the wound that pained the blue-eyed country.

The skin over Alfred's heart was blackened and burned, charred so much the nations couldn't tell what was the burn and what was soot from the fires. Several of the younger countries threw up in their mouths at the sight.

The North American brothers both winced in memory of the pain and rubbed a hand over their hearts, as though the phantom pain had come back to haunt them.

The begging also startled the nations. They couldn't remember the last time they'd heard the American beg for anything other than another hamburger.

Alfred's pleas fell on deaf ears. There was no way Matthew would be denied his revenge. "You burned me," he growled, very unlike the Canada they knew, "I'm giving you a scar to match."

With that, Matthew shoved his brother away, Alfred tumbling to the ground where he lay, unconscious as his capital burned.


	19. Homeward Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew has grown in his time away and didn't realize he missed his colonial siblings so much.

The nations stared at the ending memory in shocked, horrified silence. Both Canada and America were frozen and staring at the memory, lost in the past as the screams of pain echoed hauntingly in their ears. Even Hungry was too shocked to even think about hitting Canada with her frying pan and the weapon slipped out of her grip and clanged to the floor.

No one moved as the two brothers drank in the memory even after it ended. Finally, Prussia got tired of the silence and nudged Canada slightly in the side, causing the purple-eyed country to fall against his brother.

The effect was instantaneous. They grabbed each other tightly and a hug, one not letting go of the other as repetitions of "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." came out of Canada's mouth and America gripped his brother so tightly his knuckles went white.

When they finally pulled away, both countries eyes were shining with tears and the other countries were careful not to comment on that, but they kept a close eye on the brothers as the memories continued.

The deck of the ship pitched and rolled under Matthew's feet as he stumbled up the deck with the other men, hoping to catch a glimpse of the docks before the large wooden vessel came to a rest in the water. Shouldering his way past several men he vaguely from fighting next to them, Matthew braced his hands on the rail of the ship and breathed in the same smell he had when he'd arrived a little over fifty years before. Both times he'd arrived in the bustling port after a war, except this time he wasn't a child anymore. This time, he wasn't leaving home but returning.

The ship shuddered to a halt as it docked and the gangplank was soon lowered. Matthew grinned and slung his pack over his shoulder, weaving his way between the other men and stumbling onto the cobbled street. His smile, however, soon disappeared when he scanned the crowd of women, children, and elderly parents that had gathered. Arthur wasn't there.

England was still rattled by the scene he'd just witnessed, but he still registered the glares sent his way and winced.

"Your brother is coming home," China chastised. "The least you could do is welcome him back."

He sighed. Of course, Arthur wasn't there. He probably had too much paperwork to deal with after the peace treaty to spare even a few hours to fetch Matthew. Matthew's shoulders slumped slightly and he shuffled his way over to the road that would lead him home.

He had only been walking for a half-hour when it became apparent that he wouldn't get home before nightfall. Matthew wiped the few beads of sweat from his face that had made their way down his forehead. It was hot for early June and the sky was blue and clear. Matthew smiled up at the clouds, which were white and puffy and danced their way across the sky. It seemed that nature was welcoming home the soldiers who had fought for the empire. The clattering of wheels on the packed, stony earth and the sounds of horses neighing came up behind him and Matthew turned his head to see a wagon pull to a stop beside him.

"Do you need a ride home?" The old man smiled kindly down at him and his wife shifted on the bench to make room for him, also smiling.

Matthew protested, but it was weak. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible. It had been almost three years since he'd been home and the anticipation was killing him. Finally giving in, he accepted the old man's hand up but insisted on sitting in the back of the wagon. "Thank you, sir."

"Where do you live, love?" The woman asked, turning to face him.

Matthew gave them directions. "If it's too much trouble, I can walk."

"Nonsense," she said. "It's on our way back to our farm. We'll be passing by it anyway."

Brushing a loose lock of hair behind his ear, Matthew set his pack down on the wooden floor of the wagon and laid down against it. Folding his hands over his chest, he closed his eyes and drifted off into a light sleep.

oO0Oo

Matthew was startled awake when the carriage came to halt at the end of Arthur's estate.

"There you go, dear." The woman patted his cheek affectionately and the man shook his hand as he descended the wagon. "Are you sure this is where you live?" she asked, a bit nervously as she compared the size and obvious wealth of the estate with the tattered old clothes Matthew wore and the uniform peeking out of his pack.

"Is that all you brought with you?" asked Italy.

Though it was obvious that Canada was still upset about what he'd done to his brother, Canada tried to smile. "Well, I could exactly bring Mr. Kumajiro with me, could I? He would have been the only other thing worth taking. I really only needed a few changes of clothes and a pad of paper and pencil. The rest would have just been unnecessary weight."

"Yes. My thanks to you both…" Matthew's voice trailed off as he saw the figures that started running out of the doors and across the fields. They were small from a distance but growing larger with each step. Without finishing his goodbyes, Matthew sprinted towards the figures, dropping his pack halfway as they met, falling to his knees and flinging his arms open in time to receive an armful of his colonial siblings. Matthew buried his face into the shoulder of the colony closest to him and they stood there for awhile. He might have been crying, or it might have been someone else's tears on his cheeks, but Matthew didn't care. He was home.

A few of the nations blinked back tears at the happy reunion. I wasn't often that one could go home and reunite with their sibling without making the gap that had grown between them in times of war worse.

After a few minutes, the pile of colonies separated and Matthew drank in the sight of his siblings, a sight he'd only read about in letters for almost three years.

"Hello, Matthew." Jett stepped to the front of the group. He was much older than when Matthew had last seen him, looking about ten years old, but his eyes still shone with the same brilliant brightness that they had when he'd left. "Nice to see you again." He said it as if they had just seen each other a few weeks before instead of it being years.

That broke whatever spell had been on the group and all of a sudden Matthew found himself being bombarded by questions by his siblings. Letting out a laugh, Matthew scooped one of the smaller colonies in his arms and started walking towards the house, followed by everyone else. "Before I tell any stories, I want to change my clothes and eat something other than stale biscuits and military rations."

Toby laughed too and ushered the rest of his siblings into the house, promising Matthew that he'd go tell the cook to prepare an early dinner.

oO0Oo

Forty-five minutes later, Matthew sat at the table with his siblings, regaling them with tales of the war, but being careful not to mention anything gory or nightmare-bringing. He told them of his lands and stories of his people that he'd heard from the other soldiers and first nations warriors. He told them of Laura Secord and her bravery. He told them of the friends he'd made in the army and the times they'd spent together. Matthew was just in the middle of telling a story about Charles getting caught in a rabbit snare when the door creaked open and Arthur entered.

Matthew stood up from where he was seated at the table and made his way over to Arthur. Things were tense between them for a moment as the two studied each other. Matthew had grown in his time at war and was now the same height as Arthur and now looked between sixteen and seventeen years old.

"I…" Arthur put a hand on Matthew's shoulder and in doing so, accidentally pushed Matthew's collar away to reveal the edge of the burn that had come from the sacking of York.

France growled when he saw that, despite being a year old, the burn still hadn't fully healed and was an angry red and would probably stay that way forever.

Anger flickered in those emerald green eyes and the British man's jaw tensed slightly. "I'm proud of you."

Matthew felt a smile creep up his face. Ever since Alfred had left, Arthur had been aloof and hadn't interacted with the colonies as much as he had when Matthew had first joined the empire. Hearing those words was high praise from the man and Matthew took it gratefully.

"You've grown," Arthur observed. Matthew couldn't tell by his tone whether he liked that or not.

Matthew thought of all that had happened in those years away from home. The battles he'd won and lost. The friends he'd made and said goodbye to. The pain he'd inflicted on his brother and his brother's people. The scars that now littered his skin, marring the pale flesh forever. "I guess I have."


	20. Confederation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew is his own country!

Matthew fiddled with the button of his dress jacket, waiting for the conference to start. He was early by almost two hours, but he would rather be very early then very late. The colony knew he had to make a good impression on the delegates sitting beside him. He was the youngest, looking about seventeen years old, but he was probably the most knowledgeable of them all. Matthew drummed his fingers on the polished wooden table as he thought about the proposition. The province of Canada had submitted an idea to the Maritime colonies about a united country and Matthew had to admit, it sounded appealing. There were worrying signs of trouble on horizon headed for British North America. The civil war in America had left his brother with a weak government and strong armies.

America winced, remembering the civil war and the insanity during it.

Matthew saw the hungry gazes of the Americans looking towards his territory with envy and there was talk that Britain wouldn't be as eager to defend their North American colonies from another attempt at American annexation.

Both England and America received glares when that was revealed.

"Honestly," Prussia drawled. "Vhy jou vere so eager to annex jour bruder after he kicked jour butt, I vill _never know."_

Canada stifled a laugh as America turned red, though whether it was from the Prussian's insult towards his military might or from the fact that Canada had beaten him and he had almost tried to annex his brother again, they wouldn't know.

Matthew had been a colony for a long time and somewhat wanted to be recognized as his own country and representative.

There had already been two conferences discussing the matter, one in Quebec and one in Charlottetown and now, two years after the first conference, Matthew sat at a table in London, helping with the finalization of the seventy-two resolutions that would shape what he hoped would be his new country.

"Attention!" Arthur stood at the center of the room, holding several documents in his hands, bringing all conversation to a stop. Matthew felt a bead of sweat trickle down his neck in anxiety and anticipation for the news the man would bring, good or bad. "Her Majesty Queen Victoria has signed the British North American Act with royal acceptance. Let it be known that the provinces of Quebec, Ontario, Nova Scotia, and New Brunswick shall be from this day forth, known as the Dominion of Canada under the Crown of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland."

Several countries let out whoops of excitement and congratulations when Arthur made his speech. America strode over to his brother and pounded him on the back good naturally. "Took you long enough!"

"Shut up," Canada said, laughing as he shoved his brother back.

It took a few moments for the words to register for Matthew. He was a country now. Him. Sure, he still answered to the Crown in times of need, but he was a country. A smile spread across his face, threatening to split it in two as he stood and approached Arthur. The green-eyed man looked both proud and pained but he held out his hand for the former colony to shake.

The moment Matthew gripped Arthur's hand, he was plunged into memories.

"Huh?" asked India. "What just happened?"

 _A cry broke the air, startling the nations_ watching _. A young woman with long, feathered black hair and dark brown eyes smiled down warmly at the bundle of rags that she cradled him her arms._

The memory of their mother's fading was still fresh in Canada and America's mind and seeing their mother in front of them, healthy and young, was like a punch to the gut.

_Another cry sounded and a pale hand surfaced from the banket and grasped wildly for the woman's nose. She laughed and spoke words the nations could not understand before setting the bundle down and moving some blankets away so whatever was in the bundle became visible._

_Two faces with the barest hints of a tan popped out of the depths of blankets and opened their eyes. One child had deep purple eyes and blonde hair with a curl dipping down over his nose while the other child's blonde hair sported a cowlick at the front and the eyes of the child were a sparkling blue. Other than that, the two were identical down to the curve of their brows._

_Several of the female countries cooed at the adorableness of the newborn nations, turning to compare them with their older selves standing next to them. The newborn countries had an air of innocence about them, the kind that comes without really knowing what the world was truly like and playful mischief sparkling in their eyes. America and Canada didn't have the same innocence and were marred with scars that their younger selves did not have, but the playful glint in their eyes remained._

_The blue-eyed one giggled and swatted at his brother's curl, causing the purple-eyed boy to fall over in order to get away. There was a moment of silence as the nations thought the boy might start crying before his face broke into a grin and he rolled over onto his stomach and began crawling towards his mother. The woman picked him and his brother up and stood, carrying the two towards a fire flickering in the distance. Even as she got farther away, the nations could hear the happy babbling of the two babies towards their mother and each other._

Prussia snickered. It seemed that England's tale of the adorableness of the North American Twins as children was true. He was going to hold that over America's head forever.

_The memory changed. It seemed to be much later for the child that looked no more than six months old in the last memory was now about two. The child, who the Vikings had dubbed 'Matthew' the day before, sat up in a pile of furs and yawned, rubbing his eyes sleepily. For a moment, Matthew seemed to forget where he was a looked around in confusion, padding his way across the furs to the entrance of the low tent. Pushing the canvas away, Matthew's eyed adjusted to the early morning dawn and he remembered where he was. Some men had come to his shores and had let him stay in the camp overnight. He knew that Lukas, Berwald, and Mathias were going to make him go back to his tribe when they knew he was awake, but Matthew didn't feel like that was right. An odd pit he hadn't noticed was in his stomach had filled and he felt like he belonged with these people, despite not knowing them for even a day._

France smiled. "It comes with knowing that your purpose as the personification of a land or culture is being fulfilled."

_"Lille Bjørn!" Mathias's face appeared in view and he grabbed Matthew and hoisted him up into his arms before Matthew could protest. "Good morning! Did you sleep well? Surely a strong warrior like you needs their sleep."_

"Denmark!" Ukraine cried. "Honestly!"

_"Stop mocking the babe, Mathias," Lukas said, not even looking their way as he stirred the pot of food over a fire._

_"Yeah!" Matthew agreed. "Stop….teasing me!"_

"You tell him!" shouted Sealand, pumping a fist in the air.

England turned around to scold the micronation once more for being at the World Conference in the first place, but before he could, the memory changed.

 _Mathias chuckled and brought Matthew to sit down beside Berwald at the fire as Lukas dolled out bowls of lumpy grey slop that smelled surprisingly good considering how bad it looked. Matthew looked at it apprehensively and put a spoonful in his mouth. He_ spit _it out almost immediately. "Blah!"_

_"I never said my cooking was good," Norway said, shrugging. "It's even worse with rations that have been in the hull of a ship for a couple of weeks."_

_Berwald gave a low chuckle. "You ate before I could give you some honey for it." he poured a small amount of the viscous yellow sweetener on Matthew's porridge and stirred it. "Here, now try it."_

_Glaring at the Vikings in suspicion, Matthew tentatively brought the spoon to his mouth a found it surprisingly better. Much less bland than before. "Thank you."_

_Ruffling his hair, Berwald smiled. "Not a problem, Matthew. Eat up, now. We must take you back to your people quickly."_

_Matthew set down the spoon in his bowl with a clunk. The full pit he felt in his stomach emptied a little at the thought that these men didn't want him around. Yet, despite what they said, Matthew knew he belonged with these men, just like he knew that he wasn't human or that the people with whom he lived were his mother's people and that they would one day be his. He wasn't ever told this, but it seemed almost instinctive, like knowledge he was born with. "I...I don't want to...leave."_

_"I'm sorry, Matthew," Lukas said. "But you don't belong with us. You are not like us and you need to get back to your people and your kin."_

"It's alright," Canada said, noticing the Nordic's guilty glances. "You didn't know I was your colony at the time."

"But we should have known." huffed Denmark in frustration. "What is the chance that a child shows up next to the camp alone soon after we've set up camp and already can speak our language, albeit with difficulty?"

Canada shrugged and didn't reply.

_Matthew fought down the tears that were brimming in his eyes. Warriors did not cry and Matthew was a warrior. "But it...feels like I...belong. Right...here." Matthew touched the middle of his stomach as he said it._

_The Vikings exchanged glances, but Matthew couldn't read the jumble of emotions on them. "Does it...does it feel like you are a part of us?" When Matthew nodded, Mathias took a deep breath and continued. "Did it first start when I pulled you out of the bushes and we made contact for the first time?" At Matthew's second nod, Mathias put his face in his hands._

"We had never intended to create a colony," Denmark said in a small voice. "We knew that we wouldn't be staying for long and having a colony to take care of would just complicate things."

_"Matthew," Berwald leaned forwards on the log he was sitting on to put a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "Can you think of any name you've never heard but the name feels like it's a part of you? You would have gotten the feeling about a day ago?"_

_It was silent for a moment as Matthew considered the odd request. "Vinland," he decided. "The name...is Vinland."_

_Lukas took a shaky breath and gave a weak smile. "Well then. It seems you're our new colony. Welcome to the family, lille bror."_

Iceland gave a small smile. Though he hadn't known before today that Canada was technically his brother, he was glad he could learn about the purple-eyed nation in hopes of perhaps reconnecting after everything was over.

_The scene shifted in a whirlwind of colours. When the flashing of light and colours finally stopped, the nations stood on a beach bathed in the midday sun. Matthew stood knee deep in the river, his face screwed up in concentration as he focused on something beneath the water. Without warning, he lunged for something in the current, landing in the water with a splash! Matthew stood up, spluttering but holding a minnow in his slightly pudgy hand triumphantly. "Monsieur Francis! Look! I caught a fish!"_

_The pure excitement that lit up the colony's face caused smiles to break out on the faces of several countries watching, even the ones that usually didn't smile or express emotions often._

_The Frenchman looked over from where he was directing workers in surprise. "Matthieu! You're all wet!" Francis ran over with a blanket and wrapped it around his colony's shoulders. Drying the boy's hair with another towel, Francis took the minnow in one hand. "How about we let the fish go? It's not even big enough to eat." He set the fish down in the water where it quickly swam away from the two brothers._

_"Okay," Matthew said, looking a little crestfallen._

_Seeing that, Francis put a hand on the colony's chin and tilted Matthew's head up to look at him. "Matthieu, I'm still proud."_

_"Merci, Monsieur Francis!" Matthew said, brightening considerably at the praise._

_"You don't have to call me that." Francis ruffled his hair. "I'm your big brother now. You can call me whatever you want."_

_Matthew thought about that for a moment. He thought about Francis being his big brother now, but it didn't seem right. He had many brothers, but what he lacked was another male family member that he sometimes heard the sailors talking about around the fire. "Papa!" he chirped. "I will call you Papa!"_

France went over to Canada and hugged him. "I'm proud to be your Papa," he whispered in Canada's ear.

_For a moment, Francis looked stunned before his face broke out into a grin. Swinging the new colony into his arms, Francis blew a raspberry on Matthew's bare chest. "Then I guess you'll be mon fils as well as my colony."_

_Several countries cooed at the adorable scene they'd just witnessed before the memory changed once more. Matthew sat on a bed and the nations were concerned at how small he looked. His knees were pulled up to his chest and he shivered slightly in the thin clothes he was wearing. His arm still burned with pain and the bandages were still stained red, but it had stopped bleeding as badly as it was before and the physical pain was a welcome distraction to the betrayal and sadness he was feeling. His Papa had given him up to what he had always told Matthew was a monstrous empire. Given him up without a proper goodbye._

Stepping away from Canada, France watched Hungary nervously out of the corner of his eye, ready to bolt at the first sign of another frying pan attack.

_Thinking of that, Matthew choked back a sob and brushed angrily at the tears that had made their way down his cheeks without his permission. As if summoned by the cry that had escaped his new colony, the door creaked open and Arthur walked in, holding a steaming cup of pleasant smelling liquid._

_The British man sat down in the chair next to Matthew's bed and set the cup in Matthew's hands. "There you go, lad. A good cup of tea always helps when someone is feeling down. There might even be a splash or two of rum for the pain." He gave a wink to the colony and Matthew couldn't help the small smile that made its way across his face._

_"Thank you, sir." Matthew sipped the tea, but after that, said nothing._

_Arthur stretched his leg out and winced. "Damn that Frog."_

_Whatever civility Matthew had started feeling went out the window as rage boiled in his stomach. This man, this man who knew nothing of what Francis had done for Matthew, was insulting his Papa. Then all that rage disappeared as Matthew remembered what Francis had done. He'd overheard the man saying that Matthew's land 'was nothing but a worthless, barren wasteland of ice and snow'._

CLANG!

Apparently, France wasn't as fast as he thought he was. The nation clutched his aching head, cursing Hungary under his breath.

_The place where Matthew had always felt belonging was empty now, had been empty as soon as Francis had said those words. He pushed back the tears that were once again threatening to spill over his cheeks._

_Arthur seemed to understand because he leaned forward and placed his hand on Matthew's shoulder, careful of the wound that still pained the colony. "It's alright, lad. Let it out." He carefully enveloped the colony in his arms as Matthew sobbed into his shoulder, both out of pain and sadness. "I won't even try to replace the Frog, but I will raise you the best I can."_

_When they pulled away, Matthew felt better, but he couldn't place his finger on the reason why. It wasn't until Arthur left the room with a smile that Matthew realized that the feeling was. The empty pit in his stomach had filled again._

Matthew's knees buckled slightly when he gripped Arthur's hand and the older man put a hand on his arm to steady him. Matthew tried to ignore the pain that sliced across his wrist and the blood that soaked into the fabric of his suit jacket; a wound courtesy of leaving the empire. Despite the painful memories he'd just witnessed and the slight sadness he felt at leaving his colonial siblings and Arthur behind, Matthew was proud. After waiting for centuries, Matthew had finally accomplished what every nation was born to do. He was his own country now. The colony of British North America was gone. Instead, Matthew was now the Dominion of Canada. For a split second, Matthew swore he saw a figure flicker in and out of existence in the back of the room. A woman dressed in a long buckskin dress and dark hair braided with feathers. The tanned skin that had once been littered with scars was now smooth and pure.

His mother.

Native America's eyes seemed to be glittering with unshed tears as she mouthed something to Matthew in the language of their people. "I'm proud of you."


	21. Resistance and Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soon after becoming his own country, Matthew faces conflict between his people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really hard for me to write. It's not a section of history explored much in our classes, so I had to go and do a bunch of research, hence why it might seem a little bit choppy at times.

Grumbling, Matthew grabbed another document from the seemingly endless stack of papers on his desk. This was not where he pictured himself two years after becoming his own country. He should have expected it; Arthur had always been too busy with his own paperwork to spend time with his colonies, but Matthew had always figured the man had so much because Arthur was an empire, but it seemed that every nation had their own share of the mountains of paperwork their boss got. The purple eyed nation had even more to do than normal because his parliament had agreed to buy Rupert's Land from the Hudson's Bay company, a purchase that would soon add a vast amount of territory to Matthew's new country. Yawning, Matthew rubbed his eyes blearily. He had been in the office for over eleven hours filling out paperwork, letting the humans of his parliament go home without having to work overtime.

England turned to Canada in concern, moving to put a hand on the young country's shoulder. "Just because you're a country doesn't mean that you're invincible. You need your rest."

Canada smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck as a red blush bloomed across his neck and cheeks. "I just figured that because you were always working, that's what I was supposed to do."

"Canada, I've told you many times over that Eyebrows is not a model country." France laughed. "In fact, don't do anything he tells you. He's wrong on every account."

Whirling around to face the Frenchman, England poked the other country in his chest as the green-eyed man's face turned red in rage. "Well, Frog, I seemed to have done something much better than you had because my empire lasted much longer than yours did!"

France was just about to retort with a fist to England's face when Germany caught the blow and gave the two countries a stern looked. "If jou to can't get along, I vill move you to opposite ends of zhe room."

France and England grumbled, but said nothing as they refused to look at each other.

"Vee~" Italy said, clutching Germany's arm and gazing up adoringly at the other country. "Germany is very strong."

He glanced at his clock sleepily and wondered if it would be alright if he went home. He was exhausted and just wanted to curl up in his bed with Mr. Kumajumbo or whatever the bear's name was. Making up his mind, Matthew stood from his desk and blew out the candles in the office, closing the door behind him as he left the parliament building.

oO0Oo

Matthew woke in the morning to Mr. Kumajarl bouncing on his head and demanding food.

Canada laughed as the animal in his arms repeated the same statement and gave the polar bear a few treats he kept in his jacket pocket for that exact reason.

"I'm hungry!" the bear whined. "Who are you?"

Giving a smile despite his aching heart, Matthew rolled out of bed and picked the bear up, walking towards the kitchen of his small house. "I'm Matthew, the one who feeds you." The fact that his bear was forgetting his name worried Matthew. Ever since he'd left Arthur's house to fight his brother and defend his lands in the War of 1812, Mr. Kumachco had been asking him who he was, like he didn't remember Matthew.

America frowned. "Tony remembers my name, even if it comes out amongst curses and swear words. I wonder why Mr. Kumajiro doesn't remember yours, bro."

"I don't know," Canada said. "But it's been happening for awhile now, so I've gotten used to it."

Pushing the thought aside, Matthew set his bear down on a chair and pulled out several sausages and a few slices of bread from his icebox. After adding more wood to the fire that warmed his stove, Matthew cooked the sausages, brought them to the table and sat next to Mr. Kumajiro. Bread and sausages with maple syrup wasn't as good as pancakes with syrup, but Matthew had been so busy lately, he hadn't had the time to spare to make the delicious breakfast food. Cutting up the sausages, Matthew felt the beginnings of a headache start to tap at his temples.

"Ow," Matthew grimaced as he took bite of his sausage rolled in bread. "I think that headache is a sign that I need more sleep, what do you think, Mr. Kumajico?"

He smiled at his pet, but the bear only said. "Hungry!"

oO0Oo

"Sorry! I'm so sorry!" Matthew said as he pushed his way through the crowded streets near his parliament building. A constant headache had been pounding in his head for over a month now, never disappearing but never increasing in strength, so Matthew figured it had something to do with all the paperwork he'd been going through because of the purchase of Rupert's Land.

Finland tilted his head in suspicion. "I don't think it's because of that." he said slowly.

It had hurt so much the night before that he'd laid down in bed earlier than normal to see if he could sleep it off.

No luck. In addition to the headache, he'd totally forgotten about the meeting with the House of Commons until he'd spotted the note from his Prime Minister attached to a document that he'd pulled from the pile. Now Matthew was late and had to fight his way through the crowds that spanned the sides of his snowy streets to get to the House of Commons. Slowing to a stop at the doors, Matthew took a moment to straighten his jacket and brush the snow from his hair before entering the room looking more dignified than he had moments before.

"Mr. Williams, how nice of you to join us at last." Matthew's Prime Minister, Sir John A. Macdonald, stood at the front of the room, going over some notes.

Matthew flushed as he took his seat. "Apologies, sir."

With that, the meeting started. Matthew tried to pay attention, he really did, but his headache was no longer a gentle tap, but now a pounding rhythm against his forehead. The room also seemed warm, warmer than it should be in March, especially in Canada. Matthew's head slumped against his chair as his vision started to blur, causing Macdonald to pause in his speech, but continued when Matthew waved away the silent question, but Matthew didn't miss the concerned glances the man sent his way every few minutes.

By the time the meeting ended, Matthew was in agony. His head hurt like hell and his vision was blurry with dark spots dancing in it. When the final break was called, Matthew couldn't get out of the room fast enough.

"Matthew!" stopping in the door and leaning heavily on the frame, Matthew turned sluggishly to see Macdonald approaching him in concern. "Are you alright?"

It took a few moments for the question to process in Matthew's mind. "Huh? Oh-right, sorry. I - I think it's just the Resistance in Rupert's Land, it's just messing with my mind, but I'll be-" With a gasp, Matthew doubled over and clutched his head. Images rushed through, a Métis leader ordering men to carry out an order Matthew couldn't catch over the other sounds blurring in his head. A man Matthew knew to be one of the English-speaking Ontario settlers being dragged out, screaming and pleading, by more Métis before being executed by a firing squad. The uproar those actions caused for the opposing side in Ontario.

'What is happening?' Matthew thought.

oO0Oo

Six months after that, Matthew stood with a column of Canadian militiamen and British regulars in the new province of Manitoba, watching over the Métis people who now lived with the English-speaking settlers in an uneasy peace. To calm the resistance that had been happening in the former Rupert's Land, Matthew's government had guaranteed the Métis their land titles and ensured that they had enough land for the next generation of children to grow up with a piece of soil to call their own. The leader of the resistance, Louis Riel, had fled to the United States and was now Matthew's brother's problem. Part of Matthew was happy about that; Riel had been causing an unrest amongst his new and still fragile country, but part of Matthew agreed with the rebel's ideas of preserving Métis culture and tradition in a province that was rapidly becoming under the Canadian influence.

oO0Oo

Over the next decade, Matthew felt the pain of his native people as their ways of life were slowly pushed to the far corners of the country by the new Canadian settlers. He heard their pleas for rescue, for some God or Spirit to save them from the invasion of their cultures. Unfortunately, there was nothing Matthew could do. Every time he broached the subject to his Prime Minister, Macdonald would wave off his concerns with statements that 'they were doing what was best for their country and the natives would just have to learn to adjust'. He couldn't ask Arthur either; he didn't want the Empire to think that Matthew's country was falling apart after less than three decades of being a Dominion. Matthew didn't want to even think about what Arthur would do if he found out, so he kept silent.

England shifted uncomfortably. So Canada hadn't come to him because of what he'd said when America had declared his independence, then when the country had declared war on his brother and fallen into civil war. Burying his head in his hands, England couldn't help the feelings of guilt that washed over him as he watched his former colony suffer in silence because of the fear of England's judgement.

For years, Matthew watched from the sidelines as his people suffered. It seemed like nothing could help the native's plight.

Until Riel returned from exile.

The former resistance leader seemed to lift the spirits of his people and give them hope once again. He organized the Métis people of the North-West and made petitions for their rights. To Matthew, it seemed that everything was working out.

Then everything went wrong.

"Of course it did." grumbled Spain.

What Matthew thought to be a new start for his people quickly turned into bloodshed. He could only watch in horror as Riel seized control of the Métis and once more brought them to rebellion.

"Of course he did." Spain said again, this time accompanied by several other countries.

When he heard that there was armed forces heading to confront Riel and the Métis, he begged Macdonald to be sent with them.

"Please, sir." Matthew grabbed Macdonald's shirt sleeve as the man tried to leave his office. "They're my people, rebels or not. I deserve to be there, fighting next to them." Matthew still wasn't sure which side of the rebellion 'them' was.

Macdonald frowned. "I need you here, Mr. Williams. Your help in the past months has been much appreciated, but I can't let you go into a dangerous place without being a soldier."

"Bullshit," Matthew growled, surprised at the curse that escaped him. He didn't normally curse, no matter what he felt on the inside. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Matthew continued in a much calmer, but no less venomous tone, "I've fought in every battle this country has found itself in since the Seven Years War and I have been a warrior of my people long before then. I _deserve_ to be there, formal soldier or no. I could go with the citizen volunteers." Matthew offered.

Macdonald let out a long sigh through his nose and did not speak for several minutes. "Alright," he said at last. "I'll let you go, but you must not tell anyone of your position in the government. I don't want the rebels to have anymore leverage than they already have if you happen to be captured.

Matthew could have let out a whoop of triumph, but he kept it contained. "Thank you, sir."

oO0Oo

It really could have gone better, Matthew supposed. With Riel having being tried and hung days before, the rebellion had all but dispersed. Still, the cost was high. So many of Matthew's people were dead, both Native, Métis, and the white settlers, all because his government had ignored the rights of the people and the rebels were worried that their ways of life would be erased by the ever changing world. So many of the Métis were dead or had fled into exile, worried of what would happen to them and their families in the aftermath of the North-West rebellion defeat. Matthew's eyes burned as he thought of the promise he mother had made him make. A promise to take care of the land and his people, no matter what culture they had. Bowing his head in shame, Matthew realized that he hadn't been doing that and he'd let the settlers push his Natives and Métis, his original people, to the sidelines in an effort to better their country.

Matthew was really glad his mother wasn't still with him to see his failures.


	22. Watery Graves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Empress of Ireland sinks into the Saint Lawrence river - with Matthew and hundreds of other on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently stress writing is good for my story. It gave me the longest chapter I've ever written to date. Anyways, I don't know a lot about the effects of water in the lungs or drowning, but I did my best. Even after procrastinating studying for exams for four hours, I still don't own anything.

"You know Mom would never blame you for that." America said softly as his brother buried his face in Mr. Kumajiro's fur.

"Yeah, but…" Canada couldn't seem to put the feeling into words. "I abandoned my original people, _our_ original people in favour of those who had made me a country. I chose power over family." Tears of shame brimmed at the corners of his eyes as he struggled to wipe them away before anyone notice.

The other nations shifted uncomfortably as they tried not to look at the young country in front of them as he hid his tears. France, however, gave a sigh of sadness and pulled his little brother into a hug, not letting go as the memories continued.

"Next!"

Matthew stepped up to the table in his suit and nodded to the sailor sitting in front of him. "Hello."

Eyeing Matthew's suitcase, the sailor nodded to him. "May I see your ticket?"

From his pocket, Matthew fished the thin piece of paper from the depths and held it out to the sailor.

Taking it in his hand, he inspected it carefully. "Mr. Matthew Williams, first class, floor 2, room 36. You may go on ahead. Next!"

Thanking the sailor, Matthew hefted his suitcase and joined the other passengers in walking up the gangplank to the deck of the ship. Matthew smiled as he took in the ship he would be going to go see Arthur on. With a massive hull painted in black, two smokestacks, and a span of 167m, the Empress of Ireland was truly an amazing ship. Grinning into the breeze that blew the warm spring air towards him, Matthew leaned against the ship's railing as the engines gave a mighty groan and the smokestacks let out a burst of smoke that began carrying in ship down the St. Lawrence river. Matthew could have stood there forever, basking in the late afternoon sunlight, finally understanding Arthur's pride when he talked about his ships,

"I meant the kind during the height of my Empire, but whatever." England said with a shrug.

but the smell of cooking food had begun to drift up the stairs and he knew it would soon be time for supper. With that thought in mind, Matthew left his post by the bow of the ship and went to go find his cabin.

oO0Oo

Straightening his tie in the mirror by his bed, Matthew twisted to see the back of the suit Arthur had sent him when he'd said he was coming to visit. Something about 'not having the representation of his Dominion looking anything less than a gentleman.' Matthew gave a small laugh in the silence of the room. He would honestly been happy wearing anything on this ship and being in any class. It wasn't like any of the passengers or crew knew who he was and what he was.

"That's not excuse to not look anything less than fashionable," France said, eliciting a small laugh from Canada as he tried, and failed, to flip his hair from his face only to have it smack him in the nose.

Grinning one last time at how stupidly fancy he looked for only going to dinner, Matthew strode out into the hallway, closing the door behind him as he went to search for the dining room. Matthew turned the corner of the hallway several ones from his own and bumped into someone.

"I am so sorry," said Matthew, face flushing as he stumbled to regain his balance. The person he'd bumped into wasn't so lucky. With a small _thump_ and a quiet cry of surprise, they landed on their back on the polished wooden floor. "Here, let me help you up."

"Ever so polite," Ukraine said. "Many people in your class would have left them lying on the ground."

"But I bumped into her," Canada protested. "It wouldn't have felt right to leave her."

He reached out his hand and a small, pale hand grasped his own as he helped the unfortunate person to their feet. Taking a moment to study them, Matthew was surprised to find a small girl about six staring back at him. She had dark brown eyes and black hair done up in whatever was the latest fashion - Matthew couldn't remember what it was called - and she smoothed out the wrinkles in her purple dress with her free hand. Despite just being knocked over by a stranger, she seemed bright and happy. "It's not a problem, mister."

"Still," Matthew protested. "I'm very sorry." he looked around for anyone accompanying the girl, but no one was there. "Where are your parents? You shouldn't be wondering the ship alone."

Something dimmed in her eyes after he said that. "I-I don't know," she admitted with a sniffle. "We were supposed to go to the dining room for dinner, but on the way I saw a large piano in an open room. I stopped just for a moment to look, on I moment, I swear, but when I turned back again, they were gone." Tears swam in the girl's eyes and Matthew reached down to brush them away with his thumb.

"It's going to be okay," he promised, looking into the girl's brown eyes with his own purple ones. "I'm going to the dining room, too." he grinned and kissed the back of her hand in a mock bow. "It would be my honor to accompany you, milady."

She giggled and took his hand as they continued down the passageway together. "I'm Maria, by the way."

"That's a very pretty name," Matthew said. "Mine's Matthew."

Maria looked at him with her sparkling brown eyes. "Thank you, Sir Matthew."

He gave her an amused grin. "I'm not a knight."

"Well, you saved me like one does." Maria said, skipping beside him. "And you act just like my brother Peter says the knights of old acted, so I think you are one, but in disguise."

Prussia let out a roar of laughter as he thought of the shy little Canadian in full chainmail and carrying a sword, sitting astride a horse. He'd probably collapse the moment the tunic went on him.

As if reading his thoughts, Canada glared at him through France's arms, daring him to remember what his troops had been like in the world wars.

'Well, that's a new one,' Matthew thought. "And in which way do I act like one?"

"You stopped to help me when no one else did. That's very knightly. Peter says that's what knights do. He's twenty-one and all grown up, so he's always right."

Romano rolled his eyes. "Just because someone's older doesn't mean they know everything. I mean, look at this idiota," he said, gesturing to Spain who was now trying to juggle tomatoes (where he even got them, no one had any idea) and failing miserably.

"So if I am a knight," Matthew said, giving her an amused grin. "Which king do I serve."

"King Arthur!" she chirped immediately without hesitation. "He's my favourite, so you must serve him."

'Man,' Matthew thought, running his fingers through his hair. "What she would say if she knew that I knew the real King Arthur.'

England smirked and puffed his chest out, remembering the proud King he used to be.

Turning to thank the butlers who held the doors to the dining room open, Matthew was distracted by a shout of "Maria!"

A blur of blue and gold slammed into the girl beside him and Maria let go of his hand to wrap them around the woman who had thrown her arms around the small girl. "I'm alright, mum," Maria said. "The Knight made sure of that."

A man with Maria's eyes separated from the two girls and walked up to Matthew, holding his hand out for Matthew to shake, which Matthew obliged. "Thank you so much…"

"Matthew, sir."

The man had a twinkle in his eyes as he shook Matthew's hand one last time. "Not a knight, then?"

Matthew could feel heat creeping up his neck again. "No, sir. It's just Matthew."

The woman stood up, tucking Maria into her side. "Thank you so much, Matthew. When we got here and couldn't find her, well, we were about two seconds from sending a search party to go and find her."

"There was no need, Mrs. She was only a few corridors away, in the music room."

"There's no need to call me Mrs, Matthew. You found our daughter. I'm Helen, and this is my husband, William."

"Where are your parents, son?" William asked, looking around the room, undoubtedly for someone who looked like Matthew.

"I'm travelling alone," Matthew said with a shrug. "Well, I'd better leave you to your dinner. Have a pleasant trip."

"Wait!" Helen said before Matthew had so much as turned away. "Would you like to dine with us tonight? You'd be very welcome."

"Alright," Matthew said, smiling as he joined them at their table.

They made small talk, discussing topics of no importance, but getting to know each other. Matthew learned that William owned a law firm and that they lived in Toronto. They were going to go see Maria's brother Peter, who was studying archeology in England.

"And what about you?" Helen asked. "What do you plan to do?"

Matthew blinked. He'd never really considered the fact that boys his physical age would only be starting to figure out their lives, not already have been working for decades. "Well, I just got a job working for Parliament, but I don't know if that's what I want to do for the rest of my life." That was the fact, Matthew realized. He'd never admitted to himself that he wanted to do something different than be a nation personification, even if it was only briefly.

England sighed, putting a hand on Canada's shoulder as he watched Matthew contemplate what he'd just said. "We all feel that way at some point, lad, but it can never work out. We're here to represent the people and the country, nothing else. When we try to escape our fate, disaster strikes. Look what happened when I left my post as protector of all of Albion and tried to interfere with humans. I became King and then the kingdom fell. No matter what we want, the country comes first."

The nations beside them nodded sadly. At one point or another, they'd all tried to escape their fate and then their people had been punished for their mistakes.

There was so much for him to do, so many things to discover. Things that would be hard to do while forever stuck sitting behind a desk at Parliament, filling out paperwork.

William frowned. "But you're so young. How can you already be working at _Parliament_?"

"I'm eighteen, sir," Matthew decided. "And my brother, the one I'm going to see in London, he's a politician there and he pulled some strings to get my foot in the door."

Maria tugged on Matthew sleeve. "What's your brother like?"

"Well let's see," Matthew said, pretending to think. "He's very smart and he's really brave, but he can be annoying sometimes."

Maria giggled. "Just like my brother."

"All older brothers seem to be the same," Matthew agreed. "His name's Arthur and he's been taking care of me since I was thirteen."

"Arthur?" Maria squeaked. "Just like the king?"

"Exactly like the king." Matthew chuckled, then checked his pocket watch and his eyes went wide at the time. "Oh, if you'll excuse me, I believe it is time for me to head back to my cabin." he smiled at the family before turning to kiss the back of Maria's hand. "Goodnight, Lady Maria."

"Goodnight Sir Matthew," she chirped and he headed back to his cabin with a smile on his face.

"You're really good with the children, aru." said China, looking slightly impressed.

Canada shrugged, thinking of his provinces and territories back home, all of whom he'd had to raise since their birth. "I guess I am."

oO0Oo

_CRASH!_

Italy and several other countries started at the unexpected sound.

Matthew jumped and fell out of his bunk as the ship groaned and creaked with the aftermath of whatever the loud sound had been. Stumbling to the door, he opened it to see the steward looking slightly surprised that Matthew was up, but the steward soon recovered. "My apologies, sir, but you must evacuate the ship immediately."

Feeling his heart pick up the pace in fear, Matthew dreaded what the steward's answer would be. "What happened?"

"We've collided with another ship, sir, and we're sinking fast. We estimate no more than a half hour until she'll be under. There is no time to delay." Tipping his hat to Matthew, the man hurried to the next door and began pounding on the door as Matthew ducked inside the room to get his lifejacket.

"Shit," Romano said.

"Pretty much," agreed Canada. "The sinking of the Empress of Ireland is sometimes known as 'the Titanic of Canada'. It was a disaster."

Running out into the hallway, Matthew was crushed against the flood of people that were trying to exit the tight confines of the ship's hull. Suddenly, there was a loud groan that came from somewhere deep in the hull of the ship and Matthew stumbled as the entire boat shuddered and tilted to starboard.

Denmark glanced quickly at Canada. He knew that sound from many centuries of sailing the ocean and knew that the ship was moments from completely submerging, carrying with it all the people who hadn't yet escaped.

The sounds of the people quieted then, before the screaming and cries for help began anew. After what seemed like an eternity to Matthew, he reached the doors and broke into the night amongst the other passengers that escaped. Quickly spotting a crewman directing people into lifeboats, Matthew approached him. "Sir-"

But before Matthew could say anything else, the sailor shook his head. "I'm sorry. The Captain has given the order that women and children be of the utmost priority. I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait."

"It's not that," Matthew said. "I would just like to know what the chance of survival is."

The sailor looked at Matthew and bit his lip. "I'm afraid it's not a very high chance, sir."

Sighing in frustration, Matthew ran a hand through his hair. He'd suspected as much. He'd felt the impact and knew that they probably had even less time than they originally thought.

"Less time by half," grumbled Canada, but he wasn't angry, more sad than anything.

Thanking the sailor, he went in search of Maria and her family.

He found them waiting in line by the edge of the ship, shivering in their thin nightclothes. Maria shook as the cool breeze whipped around them and she eyed the coat in her mother's hands enviously. She tugged on Helen's nightgown and said something that was lost to Matthew over the wind, but her mom obviously heard. Maria began unbuckling her lifejacket and shrugged it off, handing it to her mother as she pulled her arms through the sleeves of the large overcoat.

That's when everything went wrong.

Another shudder went through the ship as it sank even lower in the water and Matthew saw it all unfold in slow motion.

Unbalanced from the heavy coat and already too close to the edge, Maria gave a cry and tumbled over the side. Without her lifejacket.

"Fuck!" Prussia yelled in surprise. "She's in zhe vater!"

All of the countries who'd previously owned colonies pulled them close and for once, the colonies didn't mind the protective grip.

Matthew didn't even hesitate. He brushed past Maria shocked parents and perched on the railing, not even pausing to think before he pushed off and dived into the inky blackness that was the St. Lawrence river.

"Canada!" yelled England. "Honestly! Sometimes I think you're worse than your brother!"

"Hey!" America pouted. "I'm worse by far!"

The cold hit him first.

Normally, Matthew didn't mind it when the temperature dropped, but this cold seemed to get inside his very bones and suck all the energy and life out of him, singing him a silent lullaby telling him that it would be easier to stop struggling and sink.

"You better not," France warned, seemingly forgetting the fact that Canada was in his arms at that very moment.

With a gasp, Matthew broke the surface, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes as he searched in the night for Maria's small form bobbing in the waves. She was nowhere to be found.

Wait. Matthew swum towards the bright scrap of cloth rising and falling with the waves, hoping that it was Maria. When he got there, however, his heart plummeted. It was Maria's hairbow, the one she'd been wearing when she fell in.

"Oh, God," Matthew choked back a sob at the thought of someone that young meeting such a cruel end.

No. He couldn't give up on her. Not now. Taking a deep breath and unblucking his lifejacket, Matthew submerged his face, this time opening his eyes to look for the girl's form as the waves crashed over his head.

There!

Forty feet below the surface, Maria's hair floated in waves around her head as she drifted downwards, eyes closed and a slow trail of bubbles coming from her mouth. Pulling his arms through the water, Matthew fought against the waves and the current as he used all his remaining strength to struggle through the water and reach the small girl who didn't deserve to die. After several heartbeats that each seemed to take an hour to come, Matthew's hand clenched onto the girl's collar. He pulled her close and tried to rise through the waves, but something seemed to be resisting his efforts.

All the nations were silent now, watching and waiting to see how it would unfold.

The overcoat, which had briefly kept Maria warm in the few seconds she had been wearing it, was now saturated and added twenty pounds onto the already deadweight girl. Matthew's lungs burned and he didn't even want to think about how much the girl in his arms must be suffering if he, a nation, was starting to run out of air. How long had they been underwater? Two minutes? Three? His limbs were going numb with the cold and he was finding it increasingly difficult to swim with the unconscious girl. Peeling the heavy coat from the girl's shoulders, Matthew shifted Maria so he could hold her tight against his chest with one arm as he propelled them to the surface with the other. Matthew's body protested every movement, wanting to just give up and sink into the inky depths, but Matthew could see the water starting to lighten and gave one final burst of speed. His lungs burned and against his will, they sucked in water as he tried to get air. The feeling of drowning was worst now and Matthew writhed under the water as he swum up, forcing himself not to cough and inhale anymore during the final meters of the rescue. When he head broke the surface, Matthew coughed up water but didn't let himself have anytime to orientate himself. He swam towards his life jacket that had drifted a feet feet to his right in the current and pushed Maria onto it, pounding the girl on the back, trying to get her to release the water that was in her lungs. His first few attempts were fruitless and he was starting to panic before Maria started spasming and a gush of water flowed from her mouth.

"Matthew?" she croaked, turned to look at him with exhausted eyes.

"Oh, thank goodness," Hungary said, resting a hand on her chest in relief. "She's alive."

"Hush," Matthew said, holding her again against his chest as he slipped the lifejacket on her shoulders and treaded water to help keep them afloat. "You'll be fine, but don't go to sleep. Your body will go into shock and that is dangerous."

He waited for a response, but not came. "Maria? Maria!" His first cry for help was stopped as a wave crashed over his head and he sucked in mouthfuls of water. "Help!"

He continued yelling even as more waves crashed over them, pushing them further from the sinking ship. Matthew had no energy left to swim towards the lifeboats that were slowly rounding up survivors and as he treaded water, he could feel the cold sapping his strength, making him lose the will to continue fighting. His grip on Maria slackened as he felt something pick her up from the water, his body sinking through the river as the darkness that threatened at the corners of his vision spread.

America sucked in a breath and grabbed his brother's hand, just to remind himself that Canada was standing next to him more than a century later.

With a jolt, Matthew felt someone grab him under the arms and haul him up from the water into a rescue boat. Matthew's body seized and he coughed up even more water than he thought would ever be possible to be in his lungs. Someone rubbed circles on his back as he heaved over the side of the boat, freezing water rushing out of his mouth and nose in gushes.

Canada shuddered, remembering the burning in his throat and nose as that water escaped their confines inside his body, allowing him to gulp air back in.

When he regained control of his body enough to turn and flop weakly on the bench, he spied Maria lying on his side in the bottom of the boat. "Will she be okay?"

The sailor who had been draping a blanket across her nodded. "She'll be fine. A bit of hypothermia, I reckon, but she'll be alright in the end.

Italy and Ukraine gave a sigh of relief, along with several other nations who had been worried about the young girl's health.

You, on the other hand," he frowned at Matthew and shifted towards him, grabbing what looked to be a roll of cloth. "You swallowed a lot of water and we have to be careful you don't continue to choke. And your foot," he trailed off and started unravelling bandages as Matthew glanced down where the sailor had been looking just moments before.

A large gash spread from between his big toe and the next one over, cutting through his halfway before it abruptly stopped. "That's a bad one, alright. I'm surprise you haven't passed out yet." he added, beginning to wrapped the bandage around Matthew's foot, the blond hissing as it made contact with the tender wound. "I'd be surprised if you didn't lose the foot too."

Matthew shrugged. The wound probably wasn't as bad as it looked and besides, he'd heal. He knew why it was there, of course. A everlasting reminder of the tragedies of this night. "I'll be fine, but what about Maria? Why isn't she moving?"

The sailor tied off the bandage and inspected his work. "She's just sleeping. The cold knocked it right out of her. Is she your sister?"

"No. I just met her yesterday."

One of the rowers who had been listening raised his eyebrows. "Not many people would jump into water after a person they'd just met."

Matthew hummed, but said nothing as he leaned back against the side of the boat and stared at the night sky as the boat rocked and pitched beneath him. It was like a comforting song after the false lullabies the water had whispered to him and with meaning to, he felt his eyes begin to close and he slipped into unconsciousness.

oO0Oo

What woke him first was the hushed whispers that were just out of reach, sounds he couldn't make out. Matthew shifted and let out a low groan at the pain that flared in his foot. Cracking one eye open, Matthew initially blinked against the bright light that suddenly flooded his vision, but soon the stinging passed and he found himself lying on a bed inside a room with white walls, white beds, white blankets, white everything. A hospitable. Great.

"Wha-?" Matthew began, but didn't even finish the word before he felt someone pull him into a desperate hug.

"Thank you," Helen whispered into his ear as she held him close. "My daughter's alive because of you."

That jerked Matthew from her grip as he looked around the room wildly. "She is?"

He felt someone crawl onto the bed to sit next to him and suddenly he had an armful of Maria, the little girl crying into his shirt as he awkwardly wrapped his arms around her.

Spain burst out laughing. "Oh, amigo. You seem so uncomfortable."

"Hey, it's okay." Matthew said, shifting so that he could face her. "I'm glad you're alright."

Maria sniffled again. "I wouldn't be if you weren't there."

"But I was," Matthew said, poking her nose. "So I guess that does make me a knight."

Her laugh was music to his ears. He knew in his heart that barely any children had survived and to see Maria sitting next to him, healthy if you didn't count her pale skin, it made him feel as though he had perhaps not been totally useless during the sinking.

"You couldn't have saved them all," France said softly. "That doesn't make you useless."

Canada shrugged, but said nothing.

"How long have I been here?" Matthew asked, setting Maria down on the floor gently as he carefully pushed himself from the bed.

"Three days," William said from the corner of the room,

"Three _days_?" England yelped.

"But Matthew, you really shouldn't be up. You're still healing."

Matthew ignored him and shakily made his way across the room and out the door, down the hallway and into the lobby where a familiar blond-haired boy was arguing with the receptionist. "But he's my brother, I have to go see him! What do you mean 'need proof of identification'? We're twins, for heaven's sake! We're identical except for the-"

"Hey, Al," Matthew said softly, interrupting his brother's rant.

Alfred turned towards him, wide eyed. The blue-eyed teen hesitated all of one step before he ran towards Matthew, scooping him up in a hug. "Can you believe she wouldn't let me see you? And don't go doing that again! I'm supposed to be the Hero, not you."

Matthew rolled his eyes as he pulled back. "Come on, Al. I've got to keep you on your toes somehow."

"And besides," a voice piped up from behind them. "He's not a hero, he's a knight!"

Maria and her family stood a few feet away, watching the reunion silently until Maria had spoken.

"That's a relief," Alfred said, crouching down to face Maria. "Because there can only be one Hero."

"And only one Sir Matthew," Maria agreed. "Besides," she said, tilting her head to study Alfred. "You don't look brave enough to be a knight."

Matthew burst out laughing.


	23. Harsh Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's WW1 and Matthew has enlisted.

It took several moments for the nations to calm down and several more before Prussia stopped laughing. America's face was cherry red and he glared at Canada.

"Don't look at me, bro," Canada said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I can't control which memories are shown."

The excited buzz of young men filled the air as Matthew waited patiently in line next to several beaming teenagers. Matthew didn't need to use his nation abilities to know why they were so excited; it had been all over the newspapers for the past week, an open invitation to what many of these young men, if not all, thought would be the greatest adventure of their lives.

"Scheiße," Germany muttered.

After all, what better excuse to leave home and see the world than going off to war in the name of the British Empire?

The tone of the air immediately sobered when the nations realized that many of the following memories would be tense on the friendships and alliances they'd made since then.

"It all happened long ago," England said. "No one can hold anything against you for the actions of the past."

France hummed in agreement. "As much as I hate to agree with anything, Eyebrows is right."

England turned, "Of course I'm right, you bloody Frog!"

As the two of them bickered, several nations sighed in relief.

Since the British Empire declared war on Germany for invading Belgium, hoards of young men from Matthew's country had kissed their wives, children, finances, and parents goodbye and enlisted in the military, not knowing what they were getting themselves into. They celebrated a chance of shaking up the normal, dreary life in exchange for glory and heroism.

"Yeah! Heroes!" America whooped.

Those young men didn't know what Matthew did. Matthew had hundreds of years of experience of war on them and he knew that it wouldn't be the adventure they thought it would be. The laughing and excitement came now. The weeping would come later. Still, it wasn't supposed to last long, Arthur had said, over before Christmas and then he would come back home.

"Christmas," Austria muttered, "Yeah, Christmas of _1918."_

As the man in front of him was waved towards the medical examination room, Matthew stepped up to the desk and shuffled on his feet awkwardly. "Er, hello."

The officer hardly looked up from writing things down on the recruitment forms to acknowledge Matthew. "Name?"

"Matthew Williams, sir. Eighteen years old." Matthew said, handing over the fake birth certificate his government had provided him with.

The officer barely glanced at it before waving Matthew to another room that was sectioned off with curtains. "Wait for a doctor there to examine you. He will determine if you are in the physical condition required to join the army."

Matthew thanked the man and walked over to the room, uncaring of what the doctor said. He couldn't turn his nation away from a war that the country was going to fight.

oO0Oo

That had been three months previously. Now, Matthew jabbed his spade into the earth as he wiped sweat from his forehead. Even in the damp English countryside, it still got warm during the day and that was without trying to dig trenches in the mud. Matthew snorted. Good training, they called it. He could only see a use for it if he was going to whack a German around the head with his shovel.

Italy snickered, imagining the scenario.

At least the past week of digging mock trenches had been useful for something. Certainly more useful for many recruits, Matthew felt, than trying to fire the unwieldy Ross rifles for hours on end without much success. If anything, they would know how to hit the enemy over the head with the rifle with the force of their trench-digging arms behind them. Despite himself, Matthew let out a small laugh.

"What's so funny?"

Matthew set down his shovel and turned to see one of his platoon members throw a pile of dirt behind him. "Just thinking of how _useful_ this is to our training."

The other man, Thomas, snorted in agreement. "I was definitely not expecting the mud. But everything will be better when we can actually go and fight the bastards."

"You bet." Matthew grinned once more as he drove the shovel into the mud once more, flinging clumps of dirt and clay over his shoulder to a pile where the discarded materials would be used to fill sandbags, one of their tasks to accomplish later in the week.

Matthew was just about to dig another hole in the trench when the tune of a bugle drifted faintly over the hill, signaling the start of dinner. The country and his fellow platoon members stacked their shovels against the side of an ammunitions shed and shook mud from their boots before heading in the direction of the mess tent. Matthew was about to follow when Thomas let out a small cry of surprise behind him and Matthew turned to see the younger boy lying on his back in the trench, splatters of mud covering his entire body.

"I slipped," Thomas volunteered, though it was unnecessary. It was quite obvious to Matthew what had happened there.

Denmark laughed and Norway sighed. "It's amusing until it happens to you, you stupid Dane."

Matthew rolled his eyes, though it was in amusement rather than exasperation, and offered his hand to Thomas and hauled the boy out of the ditch. "You might want to change before dinner. If the Sergeant sees you like this, he'll have you parading until dark."

The two of them laughed as they made their way down the hill, Matthew towards the mess hall and Thomas to the showers.

oO0Oo

" _I don't expect many of you to have fired a gun before, let alone at moving targets. This is why you incompetent fools have me to teach you. Any man who thinks he can hit that target, step forwards." The sergeant paced in front of the men assembled in hastily mismatched uniforms, always seeming to be too big or too small, never correctly fitting the men._

"And that wasn't even the worst of it!" Canada moaned. "At one point, all we had were left boots and half the rifles were missing."

America snickered. "You've got to keep your army in line, bro."

Canada rolled his eyes. "Blame my government, Al."

_Matthew hesitated a moment before his feet seemed to move of their own accord and he was suddenly standing a pace in front of the line of men. He quickly looked to see who else had taken the sergeant's challenge and saw, to his dismay, only three other men had stepped up. Now there was no way he could not be quickly dismissed as one of many. Too late to take it back now. His purple eyes watched as the three men took their turns firing, all of them hitting within the center couple rings of the target; an admirable thing considering the fact that they probably hadn't fired a gun under this much pressure before._

_When all eyes turned to Matthew, he shrugged his gun from his shoulder and took a deep breath, lining up the mouth of the rifle with the center of the target. He reminded himself that he'd been doing this for hundreds of years, but the unwieldy Ross rifle made it hard to get a good shot in his sight._

"Damn Ross rifles," Canada grumbled.

Germany gave a small smile. "I seem to recall some of your men discarding their Ross rifles during battle and picking up other guns from my fallen soldiers."

"That's because our rifles were terrible!"

" _Hurry up, Williams," the sergeant drawled. "We don't have all-"_

_BANG!_

_Matthew squinted to see where his bullet had landed in the waning sunlight. Just like he'd expected, the bullet hadn't landed dead center, but rather just outside the bullseye of the target._

_There was a moment of silence as the other recruits processed what had just happened. A boy, one much younger than the others who had tried, had made the shot closer than anyone. The sergeant strode up to Matthew and stood in front of him, examining the blond-haired country. "Well, congratulations Williams," he said finally. "It seems you aren't a completely incompetent fool."_

Matthew shook the memory of his first rifle practice from his mind as he laid on his stomach in the dirt and fired his rifle into another target before the sergeant barked another order and he stood and began firing again. It went on like that for hours, the sergeant calling different positions and the men firing from them: kneeling, lying down, standing, falling into a roll before getting up on one knee, from behind a tree. Throughout the whole exercise, Matthew kept an eye on Thomas. The younger man was having trouble hitting the target from the standing position, let alone while running past the target. Matthew winced as the sergeant's loud voice echoed across the grounds. Thomas shook in his boots from fear of the powerfully built man and the rifle trembled in his hands as the sergeant yelled at him for his 'incompetence'. Shaking his head and returning his attention to the targets, Matthew was about to pull the trigger once more when the bugle sounded, calling the end of practice and the beginning of supper. He stood at attention with the other soldiers as the sergeant dismissed them, the officer's eyes lingering on Thomas for a moment longer than they should have before fluttering to Matthew. Matthew narrowed his eyes at that but didn't say anything. If he did, it would get both him and Thomas in trouble and that would have accomplished nothing.

Matthew began walking back towards the barracks but soon noticed that Thomas wasn't with him. He turned and saw that his friend had lingered behind on the shooting range, staring dejectedly at the rifle in his hands. "Hey, you okay?" Matthew asked, from across the clearing.

When Thomas didn't respond, Matthew's eyebrows furrowed in concern. The crinkling of the grass under Matthew's boots as he walked towards Thomas was the only noise in that quiet afternoon. "Thomas?"

Without warning, Thomas whirled around and gripped Matthew's sleeve. "Please, you have to help me!" There was desperation in those green eyes as he said it. "You're the best with a gun here, teach me how to shoot! The sergeant will throw me out if you don't!"

Matthew blinked in surprise and stared at his friend. "You want me to teach you?"

Thomas nodded quickly and Matthew bit his lip in thought. Matthew knew that Thomas was only fifteen, one of the many boys who'd lied on their recruitment forms and getting him sent home meant that he'd live to see another day.

"Fifteen," murmured Ukraine, "He was so young."

Canada nodded his head in silent agreement.

On the other hand, Thomas had explained that he'd joined up early to escape his family and his home life and Matthew couldn't send him back to that. Matthew looked at his friend. Thomas's messy red hair was slick with sweat from the exercise they had to do and his large green eyes, the freckles splattered across his nose, and the slightly round face that hadn't lost its boyish charm made it hard to refuse. "Alright, but not now. Right now, I want food."

Thomas gave a sigh of relief and seemed to relax slightly. "Food does sound good."

oO0Oo

Matthew bit back a curse as he fell out of his bed. Stupid feet getting caught in the stupid blanket.

Prussia barked out a laugh and Canada felt a light blush dust his cheeks. "It wasn't _that_ funny." he insisted.

He froze, listening for any sounds that might indicate that his platoon mates were awake. Nothing but soft snores, chirping crickets, and the indistinct mumblings of a man talking in his sleep greeted his ear. A soft breath escaped his lips and he silently grabbed his rifle from the chest at the foot of his cot. Matthew moved silently through the tent with his hand out, hoping to feel any obstacles before he bumped into them. At last, he got to the cot closest to the door and put a hand on the person's mouth. With his lips near their ear, he whispered, "Grab your gun and meet me in the clearing."

Ten minutes later, a very disheveled Thomas scrambled up the hill and approached Matthew. "You want to-" he cut off with a yawn "Want to tell me what this is all about?"

"You wanted to learn to shoot," Matthew smiled and gestured to the targets. "I'm going to teach you how to shoot."

"Why now? Why not wait until the sun has risen?" Thomas asked, glancing at the moon that danced in the sky, overlooking the duo on the shooting range.

"Because," Matthew said, growing serious. "I overheard the officers. We're being deployed to the trenches in a few days and we have no time to lose." _Overheard_ might have been a misnomer. Even if the Canadian officers still considered themselves British, they were Matthew's people and it was an easy matter to tap into their minds and figure out their plans for his regiment.

"They still considered themselves British?" England frowned.

Canada shrugged. "I was still a new country and not fully independent yet, so I guess because we were still part of the British Empire, people considered themselves British."

Still, it wasn't something Matthew liked and he tried not to do it often. It made him feel like he was disturbing someone's privacy and made him uncomfortable.

The two of them spent hours outside, Matthew teaching Thomas how to shoot and Thomas slowly growing more confident in handling a gun, and as such, his aim improved. Matthew gave a slight smile, he'd had a feeling the issue always had been a 'mind over matter' sort of thing.

Suddenly, Matthew heard the quiet _snap_ of a stick being broken and he whirled around, gun raised, to see the sergeant standing in front of him, looking very unimpressed. Matthew quickly lowered the gun and fell into a salute, jabbing Thomas in the ribs so he'd do the same. The redhead's knees trembled slightly, any shred of confidence seemingly having disappeared in the sergeant's presence.

"Williams! Cook!" the sergeant barked. "What in the bloody blue blazes do you think you're doing!"

America snickered under his breath. "Try saying that ten times fast."

Matthew gulped. It didn't matter how he said it. In French, English, Old Norse, one of his many Native languages, they all meant the same thing. He and Thomas were screwed. Matthew shifted on his feet and ducked his head.

"I didn't hear you!" roared the sergeant.

"We were practicing, sir!" Thomas shouted, before realizing what he had done and to whom. He quickly ducked his head.

The sergeant looked stunned momentary at the outburst before he turned to Matthew. "And this was your idea, Williams?" he said, dangerously.

"Yes, sir!" Matthew said. "I was helping Private Cook with his shooting, sir!"

"And why at this time of night?"

"So we wouldn't bother anyone, sir!" Matthew lied.

"Well, you woke the entire blooming officer's quarters!" he roared.

Spain let out a roar of laughter. "I think I'm starting to like this guy."

Matthew paled and lowered his hand from the salute. Thomas's face went as white as a ghost, even his freckles seemed paler than usual. The night air seemed quieter than usual, as if the creatures that roamed in the dark were waiting with bated breath to see what would happen next. Matthew steeled himself and stepped forwards, saluting again. "Sincerest apologies, sir!"

"Was it worth it, Williams?" the sergeant lowered his voice so he was speaking at a normal tone.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"I _said_ , was it worth it? Did you accomplish anything?" he seemed genuinely curious now and Thomas sent Matthew a confused glance.

"Yes, sir," Matthew said. "Private Cook can hit the target four times out of five now, sir."

The sergeant nodded and scratched his chin. Without warning, he barked. "Cook! Stand at the 25 meter mark. If you make the center, I'll rethink your punishment."

Thomas gulped and picked up his gun. His eyes locked with Matthew's and they screamed _HELP!_ Matthew found his mouth suddenly dry in fear for his friend. Thomas could shoot now, but hadn't yet made it anywhere near the center and that was _without_ the sergeant watching his every move.

The young redhead braced his feet in the dirt and leveled his gun with his shoulders. His finger wrapped around the trigger and he sucked in a breath and then-

_BANG!_

The recoil slammed into Thomas's shoulder and he stumbled back a step before his eyes immediately snapped to the target. Matthew felt his heart sink. The bullet had hit the second ring from the center, but not anywhere near where the sergeant wanted.

Hungary sighed in disappointment.

There was silence for a moment before the sergeant turned to the two other men. "Both of you will be parading the ground all of tomorrow and tomorrow's night. Consider yourselves lucky that it's not worse."

Matthew could almost feel the relief radiating off of Thomas when it registered that he wasn't going to be thrown out of the army. As the sergeant turned to leave, he shot Matthew one last glance and, if Matthew wasn't mistaken, there was approval hidden deep in his eyes.


	24. The Untouchable Salient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After barely any training, Matthew's division is thrown into the thick of it and told to hold the Ypres Salient, which can not fall into the hands of the enemy.

Matthew sat with his back against the trench wall, holding his rifle close to his chest. Some of the men from his division sat beside him and heaved shuddering breaths into their lungs. Matthew could tell these men were nervous and trying to convince themselves that everything would be alright. His platoon had barely seen any action, and yet here they were, at the front of what Arthur had said was an important battle.

France shot England a glare, the century-old dispute between them about Canada's involvement creating rising tensions once more.

Matthew peeked his head over the trench wall and did a double take at what he saw. A cloud of yellow-green gas tore across No-Man's Land towards his side of the battle.

"What in the world…" Thomas began as he too caught sight of the gas rapidly moving towards the Algerian troops.

Matthew knew what he meant. In his military career - which wasn't much by nation standards - he'd never seen anything like it. He'd never even heard of such things.

"Zhat's because zhey vere supposed to be outlawed," Germany said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

He watched in horror as the men the gas came in contact with fell, screaming in pain as they withered on the ground before going still.

"What's going on?" murmured one of the soldiers as he watched the Algerians begin running from their posts in an effort to escape the gas.

Swallowing roughly, Matthew clutched his rifle tighter as he scanned the trenches for an officer. No orders came and Matthew looked at the young men next to him in the ditch. All of them were scared, Matthew could tell from one look at their faces. Even the ones who talked big game had never experienced anything like this.

"What do we do, Matthew?" Thomas asked, casting a glance at his friend before returning to looking over No-Man's Land. He quickly fumbled for his rifle and fired a shot uselessly into the gloom. "The Germans are coming!"

America raised an eyebrow. "I thought he was getting better? He just missed the nearest enemy by about fifty feet!"

"Well, let's put it this way," Canada said, rolling his eyes slightly. "If this was _your_ first battle, how do you think your shooting would have been?"

"Awesome, 'cause I'm the Hero!"

Before he could think to reply, a British private ran towards him. "General Kirkland has requested you go see him immediately." the man said before turning back to lead Matthew to him.

Thomas looked quizzically at Matthew, but Matthew just shrugged and followed the other man through the winding trenches. When Matthew finally turned what seemed like the hundredth corner, he came to a stop in an area of the trench with a shallow impression dug into the wall. Inside the shelter stood two men whom Matthew recognized.

"General Kirkland, General Bonnefoy, I have brought him like requested." The British soldier saluted when they turned to him before stepping back into the shadows of his regiment.

"Matthieu!" Francis strode towards him and opened his arms, pulling Matthew into a swift embrace. "How are you feeling? A great shame that Arthur has forced you into our war."

"I didn't force him into anything!" England growled, jabbing France harshly in the chest. "And you know that!"

"Sod off, Frog," Arthur grumbled. "He and the others of his country are here of their own accord."

"More zhan a hundred years later and zhey're still fighting about zhe same thing." Prussia chuckled.

Sensing a fight coming on, Matthew interrupted. "I'm fine, papa. Why did you call me here?"

The green-eyed man took off his helmet and wiped sweat from his brow. The little light that shone down upon Arthur's face through the smog revealed that the man was pale and thinner than Matthew remembered. The blond-haired boy felt a pang of worry in his chest that he soon pushed away. It wouldn't do to get distracted now of all times. "We just wanted to remind you that you are not to get caught or have your abilities be shown. I will not have centuries of a closely kept secret be revealed by an untested Dominion who couldn't hide his nature."

Matthew flushed slightly and was reminded of when Sheaffe had discovered him. "Don't worry, I won't. Is that all?"

Francis gently put a gloved hand on Matthew's shoulder. "Stay safe, mon petit."

Matthew smiled softly and was about to tell Francis to do the same when the same British soldier from before yelled out a sentence that made Matthew's heart stop. "The Algerians! The gas has gotten to 'em. They're leaving!"

Arthur tensed and took a muddy map out of his pocket. He studied it for a heartbeat and then let out a curse. "That leaves a six-kilometer hole in the Canadian's left flank. Francis, your soldiers are bloody cowards."

For a moment, all time seemed to slow. The bullets flying above their heads continued their destructive paths, but slower and even Francis's reply (they're not _mine_ , they're my colony's!) seemed muffled like it was underwater.

"W-what should I do?" Matthew said when everything had processed and gotten back to normal. He tried to keep the tremor out of his voice, but the sentence still came out shaken.

The shouting and cries of battle were louder now but were drowned out amongst the screams of bullets and the sound of choking soldiers as they inhaled the gas. "Hold those lines," Arthur said, a steel in his voice that hadn't been there before. "That's all we can do now."

With a nod, Matthew turned and ran, holding his rifle out so he could fire at a moment's notice. The mud that splashed onto his boots was now mixed with blood and when he got to his section of the trench, he was devastated to see that two of their men had already fallen. Thomas fired multiple rounds over the side of the trench and then ducked down to reload his weapon. He caught sight of Matthew and his hands stilled in their motions. "Did they tell you what we're to do?"

Matthew nodded grimly and spoke to the whole platoon. "We're to hold the line. No Huns are getting through here!"

Both Canada and Germany winced at the derogatory term. "Sorry," Canada murmured.

Germany grimaced, but waved the comment away with a smile that looked slightly forced. "Ve called jou things just as bad."

oO0Oo

Matthew fought for hours against both the gas and the Germans that came in its wake. His eyes burned with the wisps of gas that attacked him. Luckily for him and many of the men, the bulk of the gas had been directed towards the Algerians so they weren't hit as badly as the other soldiers. Even still, Matthew watched far too many of his men fall, their bodies stilling in the bloody mud as they were choked to death by the gas.

Canada felt his heart skip a beat as the name of all those soldiers came back to him. _John. William. James. Robert. George. Charles. Edward. Henry._

In his little section of the trench, Matthew fired round after round of bullets into the gloom and gas. Every time a German climbed over the barbed wire and landed in his trench, Matthew or one of the other soldiers would shoot him down before he had a chance to take out many of their men. Unfortunately, the enclosed space soon became littered with bodies and it became harder to navigate the trenches. At one point, Thomas was fighting a German, bayonet against bayonet, when the redhead's foot became entangled in the uniform of a fallen soldier and he fell, hitting the ground hard.

A few countries have involuntary winces of sympathy at the sound of the boy falling awkwardly, a worrying _click_ coming from his ankle. From the way Thomas winced and pushed away the pain though, they could tell it was nothing more than a slight sprain.

The soldier he was fighting was just about to plunge his bayonet into Thomas's chest when Matthew shot him in the back of the head. It wasn't the most honorable kill, but Thomas's grateful face when he opened his eyes to see the man dead was worth it.

"Thanks," Thomas breathed out, voice shaking slightly but with more courage than Matthew thought the boy possessed.

Wordlessly, Matthew gripped his arm and pulled him up with a tight smile on his face. They didn't say anything else, no words were needed in the haze of the fighting. The primal instinct of survival overcome any other emotions one could demonstrate.

oO0Oo

Matthew grimaced as he held the urine soaked cloth up against his face, tying it around the back of his head so it covered his mouth and nose.

France shuddered at the mere thought.

Moments earlier, a medical officer had burst into the trench, instructing them to do as he said quickly, lest they all die. Matthew's limbs were screaming for relief and his eyes drooped with exhaustion as he fumbled with the knot. He and the other men in his trench were living on the brink of collapsing. They hadn't stopped for more than an hours rest at a time in the three days since the Germans had launched the gas at the Algerians. Now, he and Thomas watched with morbid anticipation as another cloud of green-yellow gas, much larger than the one before, rolled its way lazily across the field.

"It-it's headed in our direction," Thomas whispered softly. "Oh god, we're all going to die."

Matthew elbowed him sharply as several other men turned their way at the statement. "Shut up," he hissed. "We're not going to die."

But even Matthew was trembling in his boots as he watched the largely-unknown gas picked up speed with the wind and began approaching their trenches much faster. Faster, Matthew realized, than they could hope to be _if_ a retreat was ordered.

"Big if," Canada muttered.

He swallowed roughly, trying to get past the dryness in his throat when he noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and saw Arthur moving through the maze of dirt towards the trenches farthest from the gas. "I'll be right back," he said vaguely to Thomas and set off in the direction of the blond empire.

"What are you doing?" Matthew grabbed Arthur's shoulder and spun the man around to face him. "Are we retreating?"

"No," Arthur said, eyes cold as ice. " _You_ are not. My soldiers are expended past their limits. I'm going to bring more reinforcements to help. Shouldn't take more than a day or two."

"You're leaving him?" Ukraine cried, turning to face England. "Poisonous gas is crawling towards your little brother and you're just _leaving_ him alone?"

"I didn't have a choice!" England bit back. "Canada was needed there and I was needed to help organize the new troops! Besides, Canada was a capable young man, he could deal with it himself until I got back."

"And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?" Matthew exploded and then struggled to keep his voice in a hushed whisper. "Are we just supposed to wait here and die for you while your troops get to go hole up somewhere away from all _this_?" he gestured to the scenery around them, eyes glancing over the bodies in the trenches and the explosions sending mud and shrapnel flying through the air.

Sealand squeaked in surprise and ducked behind Latvia.

Arthur's jaw twitched and he poked Matthew in the chest. " _Yes_. You and your men are the last line of defense we have right now. The few of my men that survive will be staying here with you, so you're not alone. The Germans must not be allowed to take Ypres! No matter what, you _must_ hold the lines. I'll return shortly and until then, do not disappoint me."

Hungary turned and glared at the green-eyed country.

With that, the British man whirled around and marched back through the trenches to catch up with the officers striding towards the safety of the rest camp several miles behind the lines. Matthew cursed and ran back to where Thomas beheld his expression nervously.

"We'll be fine, right? They're calling for retreat?" Thomas said nervously.

Matthew shook his head softly. "We and the remaining British and French troops are to stop the Germans from getting through the lines until reinforcements can arrive."

"Oh god," Thomas moaned, turning pale as a sheet. "We're all going to die."

"He's got that right," America drawled.

oO0Oo

Matthew's arms shook as he fired another round of bullets into the dim light of the setting sun. He'd lost count of how long he'd been fighting for. Was it one day, or two? Or had a week passed? Matthew didn't know. Time seemed to move at its own pace there in the Hellhole called the Ypres Salient. Thomas moaned silently against the wall of the trench where he'd fallen, a bullet embedded in his shoulder from where he'd been shot at from across No-Man's-Land. Matthew didn't have time to spare to look after his friend, but he hadn't yet felt the pink-prick of pain that meant Thomas had died, so at least Matthew knew the boy was still fighting.

"Matthew," a voice came from behind him and Matthew whirled around with bayonet raised only to lower it quickly when he beheld Arthur and his troops. "It's alright lad, you can go."

Despite having been there in the battle and knowing the help that the reinforcements had brought, France let out a breath to cool his anger. At least England had sought out Canada during the fighting and made sure he retreated less he hurt himself.

The British soldiers ran into the fray and join the fight, their energy seemingly renewing whatever strength was left in the Canadian soldiers as they fought side by side. The reinforcements advanced on the Germans, bringing destruction in their wake as they cleared paths for the Canadians and the original troops still fighting to pass through to get to the farther trenches and eventually to the base camp.

In Matthew's sleep deprived battle mindset, Arthur's words just didn't make sense. Go where?

Arthur put a gentle hand on Matthew's shoulder, pushing his little brother lightly towards the trenches farthest from the battle. "Take your friend and get out of here. It's alright lad," he repeated. "We have this under control."

Blinking for a few moments, Matthew nodded drowsily. "Al'ight Ar'hur."

He stumbled over to Thomas and put a hand under the redhead's shoulder. He picked the smaller boy up in his arms, slinging Thomas's rifle over his shoulder to rest by his own and picked his way through the mud. The pinpricks of pain he'd been feeling lessened now, though whether it was because many his troops weren't fighting anymore or because there weren't many troops left to die, Matthew didn't know. He hoped for the former, but he didn't put much energy into thinking about it. He carried Thomas the three kilometers it took to get to base camp and helped him hobble into the medical tent. The last thing Matthew remembered doing was plopping himself down near an old elm tree before he closed his eyes and darkness took over.


	25. Unified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time, Matthew joins forces with all of his divisions as they take on a ridge no one has been able to win from the enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vimy Ridge is probably the most important battle of Canada in WW1, possibly in all the World Wars. For the first time, the Canadian Corps fought together as one with limited British influence. At the time, many Canadians still considered themselves British because we were such a young country with close ties to the Crown. Vimy's role in unifying the people of Canada can not be underestimated. They went up the Ridge as Quebecois, Nova Scotians, and British Colombians, and came down as Canadians. 
> 
> "It was Canada from the Atlantic to the Pacific on parade. I thought then, and I think today, that in those few minutes, I witnessed the birth of a nation." - Brigadier-General Alexander Ross, Commander, 28th Battalion at Vimy Ridge, 1917

Prussia thumped Canada on the back. "Good on you. Welcome to war."

Canada rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the memories that were next. He didn't expect to see France lying on a cot in a dimly lit tent. "Dammit."

"Bloody Hell, Francis," Arthur moved to the Frenchman's side, furrowing his brows in concern. Matthew followed closely and observed the two. He knew, that despite the facade his brothers put on, they were friends and cared about each other deep down.

England and France both looked at each other and then made disgusted faces, turning their backs to the other while the other countries snickered in the background.

Francis lay on a cot in a small curtained-off section of the medical tent, eye's blinking open blearily when he heard the footsteps approach. His knee was wrapped in red-stained bandages and Matthew guessed that if he was human, he probably would have lost the leg.

"Oof, amigo, what happened?" Spain asked, laying a hand on France's shoulder.

"Probably just a battle wound," France shrugged off the concern.

Francis groaned and tried to sit up, but Arthur's hands pushed him back down against the pillows, shushing him when he tried to speak. Matthew swallowed hard and moved into the blue-eyed man's line of view. When Francis saw him, he blinked again, this time in bemusement, and his mouth opened and closed a few times before he spoke, "Matthieu?"

"Je suis ici, Papa," Matthew said, moving to sit on the stool near the bed. "It's okay, I'm here."

"But-" Francis turned his head to look at Arthur and he let out a growl, "You said you wouldn't bring him. He's just a boy! It's bad enough you had to drag him to war in the first place, but bringing him to Vimy? It's a bloodbath out there, he doesn't need to see that!"

Arthur reddened as he always did when they got into this argument. "For the hundredth time, Frog, _I didn't bring him_! He asked to come and see you and while the Empire and all of my Dominions might have been ordered to war, Matthew didn't have to come! He _chose_ to sign up, so stop blaming me!"

"Not again!" America groaned.

Knowing from experience that they could get at it for hours, Matthew intervened and brushed the hair from Francis's sweat-slicked forehead. "It's alright, Papa. Everyone here is here because they volunteered." He didn't admit to his own worries that with his troops' numbers depleting and not enough volunteers signing up back home, his government would be forced to do something unforgivable. "How are you feeling?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Well, my men took a big hit and we've retreated from Vimy, _again_ ," Francis winced and gripped the bandaged spot that represented the recent battle. "I swear, this war is going to last forever."

"Speaking of which," Arthur jumped up from another stool on the other side of Francis's bed and reached into his coat to withdraw a folded sheet of paper. "I just got a telegram from Alfred. His country is at war now. He said he'd be here later than the troops, though. Something about dealing with unhappy people and organizing his government. Anyways, the point is, he's coming to help."

"Thank god," Francis sighed, leaning further into the pillows. "Now we might actually have a chance."

Matthew's soft stroking of his brother's hair stilled momentarily. Of course, they didn't think he was bringing enough to end the war. Unlike Alfred, his government hadn't yet forced the conscription on his people and after three years of fighting, Matthew's new recruits were but a fraction of what they used to be. He resumed brushing his hands over Francis's hair, but now there was a bitter taste in his mouth. He wished he could be of more help to Arthur and Francis.

"It's not that, Canada," England said sheepishly. "It's just-"

"I know," Canada interrupted. "America's troops were fresh and we could use all the help we could get."

"Yeah, but-"

"Just drop it," Canada said, moving to look back at the memories.

England knew a dismissal when he saw one and turned away too, his lips pursed in thought.

The last time he'd done anything noteworthy was at Ypres, but that had been two years before. His latest expedition at the Somme hadn't gone well, for either Matthew or his older brothers. Though one of Arthur's commanders insisted that the four months of slaughter had led to a victory, Matthew thought the loss of lives and lack of significant territory gained counteracted that.

"-going to put Alfred on Vimy?" Francis asked Arthur, recapturing Matthew's attention. "I would be of more use if this stupid wound would heal."

Arthur shrugged, but his answer was lost to Matthew as he turned his attention to the crest on his uniform, showing him his lowly rank. _He_ might not be able to do anything to convince people to attack Vimy, but he knew who could. Hating himself even as he did it, he tapped into the mind of the commander of the Canadian 1st Division, a man named Arthur Currie, and planted the idea there. When he was satisfied that the idea was prominent enough to be acted on, Matthew withdrew back to his seat and leaned back, happy that he was finally going to be of some use.

France opened his mouth, but Canada gave him the same look he gave England and the other country slumped in defeat.

oO0Oo

Matthew cursed himself for being so naive. If _two_ large empires couldn't take Vimy back from the Germans, what was the chance that he, a dominion not even fifty years old, could win this battle?

"So young," Liechtenstein murmured.

Still, they were making good progress with the rolling barrage despite the men that fell around him and he was surrounded by all his troops, and by that he meant that for the first time in his history, all four divisions of his military were in one place at once. He ducked into a trench as the barrage stopped, giving room for the artillery to move up into the next position. Matthew caught his breath as he waited for the sounds of shells exploding to signal to him that he could begin to advance again.

"Hey," Matthew jumped as Thomas shuffled over to him, sitting on his right. "You think this is going to work?"

Matthew considered his answer carefully. "The odds don't seem completely against us this time."

Thomas grinned and pushed his helmet up slightly to rub dust from his forehead. "Yeah, we might actually win this one, we might get to go home soon!" He was silent for a moment before turning to Matthew with an uncharacteristically serious look on his face. "What will you do when you get back?"

"I don't know," Matthew said, shrugging. "Probably go back to my old life and try to continue on as normal, I guess. What about you?"

Thomas glanced over the side of the trench and ducked as a bullet whizzed past his ear. "I think I'll get myself a girl and settle down, raise a family, maybe open a restaurant. That's what I've always wanted. Though it seemed like that might be a bit uneventful compared to now." He let out a shaky smile.

"Vee~ anything would be uneventful compared to war," Italy said from his spot perched on Germany's shoulders. It seemed the small Italian really couldn't sit still for more than a few minutes at a time.

"I've got to agree with you there," Matthew said, climbing out of the trench as their smokescreen started up again. "But I'll admit, it would be a nice change. Sounds like you got your life pretty well planned out for a seventeen-year-old."

Thomas gave a quiet laugh as the crept along with the sounds exploding shells and machine gun fire. "What else is there to do out here but-"

His words were cut off as his body jolted backward and he fell in the mud.

"Thomas!" Matthew screamed. He ran next to his friend and cradled his head in his lap. "What's wrong?"

The redhead let out a strangled gurgle and that's when Matthew saw it. A bloody hole under Thomas's ribs, the stain slowly spreading as Thomas struggled to move his hand to put pressure on it.

One glance at Canada's pained expression and everyone already knew what happened to Thomas.

Matthew knew instantly there was no coming back from this wound. His shoulder shook as he held the younger boy tightly against his chest. Thomas's uniform was soaked in blood now, just above the gut and his hand trembled as he tried to stem the flow.

"Help us!" Matthew screamed, turning to see the barrage that had now move far away from them. "Please, he's hurt! I need a medic!"

Finland looked around at the carnage on the battlefield. "They're not going to come," he said shakily. "Or at least, not going to come in time."

"I'm scared, Matthew," the boy whispered, words coming out choppy as he struggled for breath and Matthew looked down at him, tears clouding his eyes when he saw the fear openly displayed in Thomas's eyes. "I don't want to die."

That broke Matthew's resolve and he let out a sob before quickly choking it back. Thomas was so young, a boy that shouldn't have been there in the first place and Matthew would be damned if he let the last thing Thomas saw be Matthew's tears. "It's going to be alright," Matthew's voice cracked with repressed emotion. "Everything is going to be fine, you'll see."

Canada closed his eyes silently. Everything wasn't fine.

Thomas's weak nod was cut short as a groan escaped his mouth and tears rolled down his cheeks. He fumbled for Matthew as terror overtook his face. The purple-eyed country grasped his friend's hand close to his chest when Thomas let out another small whimper of pain. "It's alright, I'm here."

He waited for a response, but there was none. Matthew looked down and saw Thomas's eyes staring blankly into nothingness, his chest no longer moving or struggling for breath. Matthew let out a sob and clutched his friend's body close to his own. "I'm so sorry," he murmured. "You shouldn't have had to die."

America walked over to his brother and pulled him into a hug, but Canada didn't react other than to place a hand over his brother's.

Weakly controlling his breathing, Matthew ran his fingers down Thomas's face and close the boy's eyes, determined to give him the only bit of peace he could. Casting one last look at the boy in his arms, Matthew stood and gathered his gun, silently vowing to avenge his friend as he went in search of the blue-eyed German and his red-eyed brother.

oO0Oo

Matthew let nothing stand in his way as he pushed through the mud and blood up the ridges of Vimy. He fired round after round of bullets until his gun ran out, then slashed through the enemy with his bayonet, coating the knife's shining surface in crimson. A cold emotionless calm had overtaken him. He didn't feel any remorse as he cut down everyone in his path. He didn't feel the pinpricks of pain that marked when one of his own died or the larger stabs of agony when bullets found their marks in him. He didn't notice when a shell fired and those pinpricks hit him at once as bodies and limbs went flying through the air.

Italy paled and buried his face in Germany's shoulders, trying to escape the limbs that flew past and through him as he spectated, invisible in Canada's mindscape.

He didn't even notice when his face became painted in splattered of blood, both his and others. Matthew was focused on one goal only; find the bastards that caused this.

Both Prussia and Germany wouldn't make eye contact with their fellow nations. The knowledge that they had caused the battle that had killed his friend was still fresh in their minds.

As he reached the crest of the ridge, Matthew could hear the screams of the men behind him fade as he caught sight of the very people he'd come to see.

Ludwig and Gilbert fired their guns side by side as the Canadian troops advanced up the ridge, closing in on their position. They didn't notice the small country until it was too late. With an almost inhuman snarl, Matthew swiped the knife across Ludwig's face, cutting deep into the other country's forehead.

Germany touched the thin scar across his forehead that many people had mistaken for a worry line and remembered his shock when this country, barely an infant by nation standards, had gotten the jump on him.

The German turned around and fired at Matthew, the bullet hitting him in the side and Matthew fell to the ground with a cry.

Through his sweater, Matthew could feel the phantom pain in his side as the bullet connected with his younger self.

He could vaguely hear Gilbert's laughter as he looked at the younger country lying in the mud.

"Sorry," Prussia winced. "I said I'm sorry," he added quickly when he saw Hungary twist her frying pan in her grip.

But Matthew wasn't going to give up. Thomas deserved that much. Slowly, painfully aware of the aches and pains which seemed to have finally caught up with him, Matthew rose to his feet. Ludwig, who was facing his brother and could see the murderous rage in Matthew's eyes as he rose, opened his mouth to yell a warning to Gilbert, but Matthew struck first. He drove his bayonet through the Prussian's shoulder clean out the middle. Any goodwill and fond memories Matthew had of the other man in the the time he was colonized by Francis had disappeared at that moment, rage, anger, and finally satisfaction replacing them.

The albino former country clenched his jaw. Of course, Canada would remember him from back in his colonization and it probably hurt ten times more when he went to war, knowing he was facing one of his old friends.

He yanked the bayonet out of Gilbert's shoulder as the other man stumbled and fell to one knee. Ludwig fired again at the men surrounding him and ran to his brother's side, shrugging the albino's arm over his shoulder before standing up.

Matthew stood there, debating what to do next. All of the emotions seemed to have drained from him, leaving a tired, scared boy in their place. No matter how angry he had been moments before, Matthew wasn't a killer at heart, especially to another nation.

"Good lad," England said.

Matthew was just tired of the fighting and watching his friends die in front of him.

Ludwig took a step forward and reached for the pistol at his belt before he stopped, hand slackening at his side. Matthew only had to turn briefly to know why.

His troops were marching up the side of Vimy Ridge, victorious in their advancements. Matthew knew why Ludwig was so shocked. His untested and untried troops had succeeded where empires had not because Matthew had taken Vimy ridge when no one else could.

Ludwig looked to Matthew now, though there was something unreadable in his eyes. Curiosity or contemplation, perhaps? Just when Matthew thought the Germans would start firing again, Ludwig opened his mouth and barked and order. "Rückzug!"

Matthew didn't need to know German to know what that meant. Retreat.

Shouldering his brother despite Gilbert's protests to continue fighting, Ludwig gave an almost unseen nod of respect to the now victorious country as he started down the other side of the ridge, away from Matthew's soldiers and the fading cries of battle. Suddenly overcome with the reality of what he'd just done, Matthew crumpled to the ground where he sat in the mud and ran a hand through his blood-flecked hair. He vaguely took note that his helmet was missing and wondered at which point in the battle he'd lost it.

But mostly his attention was focused on the ground below the ridge, where Matthew could see bodies littered among the battle-scarred earth. He ran a hand across his eyes and scrubbed at the tears falling down his cheeks. Somewhere down there was Thomas - no, _Thomas's_ _body_.

Canada blinked back tears from his eyes and discreetly wiped the ones already fallen on his sweater sleeve.

"Matthew!" He felt hands grip his shoulders and haul him to his feet, shaking him in an effort to get him to refocus his attention on the person before him.

The first thing he focused on was the green eyes in front of him. "Thomas?" he croaked out.

"Huh? No, lad. I'm sorry, but I passed his body on the way here. He's definitely dead." Blond hair and thick eyebrows came into view next and Matthew's shoulders slumped when he realized it was Arthur. The other man licked his lips and wrapped his arm around Matthew's waist, slinging his arm over his shoulder to support Matthew. "Come on, let's get away from here and I'll fix you a cuppa," Then Arthur moved his hand too close to Matthew's wound and the dominion hissed back a wince. "Or maybe you need something a bit stronger."

"Yeah, sure," Matthew murmured, his head slumped forwards, just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other less he collapse fully on Arthur.

"You know, Major, Francis has been worried sick about you since you disappeared three days ago," Arthur said, turning to give a concerned glance to his brother.

"I'm sure he was," Matthew whispered before something else about Arthur's statement registered. "Major?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes. Francis and I both decided it was time that you step up and take on more responsibility for your men. We both think that you have matured enough to be able to face more challenging tasks and what you just did proves that." Arthur said, helping Matthew step carefully over the limbs and bodies in their way. He called quickly for a stretcher-bearer to come over and to have a medic sent to their tent.

Matthew was laid gently down on the stretcher and after the initial jolt of the men carrying him picking up the stretcher, the ride over to the tent was much less painful than it would have been walking the whole way there.

oO0Oo

When Matthew was settled down in a cot, Francis limped over to him and Arthur grabbed his hand.

"What were you thinking?" Francis asked, letting out a shaky breath when he saw his 'son' lying in a medical tent with his side soaked with blood.

"I just...wanted to help," Matthew choked out. "I didn't like seeing you...in pain."

This time, it was Francis brushing the hair from Matthew's sweaty forehead. "I would have been fine. You, on the other hand, mon petit, don't deserve any of this."

"I'm alright," Matthew assured him. "I'm not...a little boy anymore."

Arthur ran a hand through his tangled hair and gave a sad smile to Matthew. "No, you aren't. I guess you have grown up."


	26. Ashes Amidst Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something happens on Matthew's land and we are introduced to his son.
> 
> Wait? His son?
> 
> Yep.

"Geez," Mexico said, "Sometimes I swear Canada has just as much of a hero complex as his brother but just hides it better."

"Da," Russia agreed. "It seems the stupidly unnecessary need to be a hero runs in the family."

"Hye, Commie Bastard," America growled. "You don't say a thing about my brother!"

Canada rolled his eyes and stepped between the two nations before another fight could start. "Okay, seriously, can we just finish these memories with limited fights, please? That means you too, America," he added when his brother opened his mouth to protest.

The map spread before him was littered with chess-like pieces, a scarily accurate representation of both their and the enemy's defensive and offensive positions. Matthew ran a hand down his face and sighed, tapping the edge of the table with the other hand as he argued with Arthur on the positioning of his men.

"Why, Arthur?" Matthew said, struggling to keep his voice down. "We already lost too many men at Vimy, the Somme, and Passchendaele, and now you want me to lose even more for another lost cause?"

Arthur stalked around the table and got in Matthew's face, despite being several inches sorter thanks to Matthew's recent growth spurt. "Why would you attack?" he growled. "Because your Empire orders it! Even if you now have a fancy new title, it's not your place to question _my_ orders!"

_Whack!_

"Dammit, Frog, that hurt!" England growled, clutching the side of his head.

France lowered his hand from where he'd slapped England. "Don't talk to mon petit like that."

"I thought we established in the last memory that Birdie isn't so little anymore," Prussia chuckled, winking at Canada.

"I thought you wanted me to take more responsibility for my men!" Matthew exclaimed. "They're already low on numbers. Hell, most of my men didn't make it back from Passchendaele, and now you're asking me to send them to their deaths? I won't do it!"

His jaw clenched, Arthur was about to argue back when Francis rolled his shoulder with a grimace on his face and caught their attention.

"Papa?" Matthew turned to face his brother across the table, "What's wrong?"

Arthur too saw the expression on Francis's face and his brows furrowed with concern. "Are you alright, Frog? Have the Germans launched a surprise attack?"

The Frenchman shrugged off the Brit and turned his attention back to the map they were studying. "One of my ships exploded, but it wasn't in my waters. I'm fine."

At that same moment, a torrent of pain slammed into Matthew's lower back, ripping all across his spinal cord. Matthew screamed as the sudden burst of pain flung him into the table and he collapsed against it, dislodging military markers, visions that weren't his dancing behind his eyelids.

America grabbed Canada by his shoulders. "Are you okay?"

Canada rolled his eyes. "No, I really wasn't, but in case you haven't noticed, this was over a hundred years ago."

"Oh yeah," America said, blushing under the snickers from the other countries.

_A small auburn-haired boy ran through the streets along with hundreds towards the distant docks where a ship was on fire in the harbour, the spectacle drawing crowds of people from their homes and diverting children on their way to school and workers going to work._

Canada heard England mutter a curse and Scotland intake breath sharply and knew why. The eight-year-old boy they saw before them looked like a mini carbon copy of the Scottish man, right down to the faint smattering of freckles across his cheeks. The only difference was the vibrant ring of violet surrounding his ocean-blue irises and the lack of his counterpart's ever-present cigar and military uniform.

"Who's that?" Denmark leaned over to ask Canada.

"That's-" Canada gulped, eyes darting nervously towards the other nations. "That's my son, Oliver, the personification of Nova Scotia."

He tried to whisper it but to no avail. The nations listening heard him right away and the ones who didn't were quickly informed by their companions.

"What the hell?" England shrieked.

"Qui a touché mon petit bébé," France said, moving over to wrap his arms protectively around Canada. "Dit au Papa et je vais les terminer!"

"Papa," Canada said, ducking his head to hide from the gazes of everyone else. "You're babbling in French again. And they're not _mine_ , they're my provinces and territories. Kind of like mini countries within countries," he added when he still got confused looks. "I just found the first ones as babies when I got home from London after the Confederation and ever since then they have appeared to me every time another piece of land is added to my country."

"How could you keep this from us?" England yelled, tearing at his hair. "Did this never strike you as something important to tell us?"

The other nations watched on silently as the two members of the FACE family yelled at Canada, whose eyes darted around the room in an effort to escape. "I'm not the only one!" he blurted out. "America's states are personified!"

All eyes turned to America who groaned, "Thanks Canada, they _really_ needed to know that."

"Sorry," Canada said sheepishly.

'This isn't over, you two," England growled, France nodding along in agreement. "We'll be having a serious talk after these memories are over."

Both North American brothers gulped in anticipation of the shouting match to come.

 _The representative of Nova Scotia skidded to a stop next to a crowd of people ad craned his neck as he stood on his tiptoes in an effort to see what was happening. Firefighters and sailors from neighboring ships rushed about in an attempt to put out the fire and rescue the fleeing sailors from the_ Mont-Blanc _as the fire spread further throughout the ship._

Norway caught sight of another one of the ships in the harbour and squinted to make out the name in the early morning light. "Is that the _Imo_? Wasn't that one of my ships?"

Canada nodded, still fully aware of the eyes that had been on him since he'd revealed the existence of his children. "It and the French _Mont-Blanc_ collided in my harbour that day."

"The _Mont-Blanc_?" Spain asked. "The French munitions ship is the one of fire?"

"Yes."

"Shit," Romano muttered. "You bastards are fucked."

 _Oliver stood and watched for twenty minutes as the_ Mont Blanc _burned, sending a huge plume of black smoke into the sky, its deadly cargo on fire. For a few moments, it looked like the fire would just keep on burning until it consumed the ship, then the inevitable happened._

_With an explosion that rocked the water in the harbour, the ships exploded, sending a massive shockwave in every direction._

Norway let out a shaky breath as he buried his face in his hands, realizing that he'd hurt his lille bror once again.

_Oliver was thrown back with a scream as the ripples from the explosion reached him along with a massive tsunami that slammed him against an iron picket fence._

Canada flinched with the ugly _crack_ that sounded as Oliver's head hit the metal bars.

_Spots danced before his eyes and the young province had barely enough time to register what had happened before his head lolled against his chest and his eyes closed._

_When Oliver came too, everything was blurry and it hurt to blink his eyes open, so he settled for squinting in the harsh light. From what he could see (which wasn't much), the entire block had been obliterated, along with the people stand next to him, not a trace of them remaining. He groaned, shaking as he tried to lit his head._

"' _ey Ernie, this one's s'ill 'live."_

_The Nova Scotian moaned as someone grabbed him under his arms and dragged him a distance before he felt himself being lifted onto a stretcher._

" _It's going to be alright, kid," another man, different from the first one, spoke. "We'll get you to the hospital and they'll fix you right up."_

_The stretcher bounced along as Oliver's vision cleared enough to see what was happening around him. Richmond, the place where Oliver and many others had been standing, was reduced to rubble, so much that it looked like an apocalyptic scene._

"Holy crap, aru," China murmured as he took in the scene spread around them.

_Trees, if still in existence, were either overturned or on fire. Telegraph poles were snapped in half, their cords draped across them like cobwebs. Large building reduced to nothing more than piles of debris and rubble. People screaming and crying for their family and friends, wondering if this was an attack by the Germans or if it was the end of the world._

Canada bowed his head, remembering how scared Oliver had seemed in his letters to him and how he'd refused to step foot in Halifax for another twenty-five years.

_The worse was the smell. Charred flesh filled Oliver's nostrils and he gagged, turning over on his side to try to get away from it. In doing so, he caught sight of his rescuers. Two soldiers, both obviously injured, carried his stretcher through the ruined streets of Richmond. On man had a wrapped leg that he favoured and the other's right eye was gone._

" _Why," Oliver croaked, then started coughing with the dust that filled his lungs. "You're injured. Why are you out here carrying me to safety and not in bed?"_

_The man with the lame leg chuckled weakly. "Listen to that, Mike, he's worried about us. Have you seen yourself, kid?"_

"' _sides," the other man said, voice serious. "The h'spitals are too crowded. There wasn't 'nough room for 'lot of the victims so the soldiers who weren't completely bedr'dden offered their cots to the wounded and 'lot of us went in se'rch of survivors."_

_Oliver groaned as they approached a large concrete building with its windows blown out. Together the soldiers deposited his cot by the bed and helped him into it. In the mirror across the room, Oliver finally saw the extent of his injuries._

_Glass punctured jagged holes above his eyes that dripped blood across his face and his collar was nearly sliced down to the bone._

_That's when the shock set in. Oliver screamed, clutching his forehead but only succeeding in pushing the glass in further, causing him to let out an even more agonizing scream._

Hands covered his ears and Canada turned to see America standing behind him. Canada turned and buried his face in America's chest, not wanting to see his son in pain.

_Cold hands grabbed his hands pressed them into the blankets as people hushed him and stopped him from moving. When those same hands finally cleaned off the blood that coated his eyes, a nurse leaned into his vision. "Hello, sweetheart," she whispered softly. "Can you tell me what your name is?"_

" _I want my dad," Oliver said, his voice barely audible._

_The nurse's brows pressed together in sorrow. "I need to know your name. Once we know that, we can look and see if your parents are here."_

_Oliver shook his head, then immediately regretted the decision as pain flared across his temples. "M-my name is Oliver Williams, ma'am, and my dad is Major Matthew Williams. He's not here. He's in Europe, fighting."_

If the nations were skeptical before, Canada's behavior and Oliver's statement confirmed that they were his children and he loved them as such.

Austria ran a hand down his face in disbelief.

" _Okay, sweetheart," she said with false cheeriness. "Do you have a mother." Oliver shook his head and she sighed. "Alright. We'll have to send a telegram to your father, but in the meantime, is there anyone you can stay with?"_

_Oliver bit his lip, then shook his head._

" _Alright," the nurse said. "We'll arrange for a foster home in the meantime until your father can come home. Everything's going to be alright, you'll see."_

_But as pain coursed through his body and the screams of people and the sound of the explosion still echoed in his ears, Oliver knew she was lying._

The feeling of someone slipping their arms under his shoulders and knees, cradling him close as they carried him from where he'd fallen brought him back to the present. Matthew cracked an eye open and found Francis's worried face close to his own. He gripped his former colonizer's sleeve. "Please...hurts….ask Al for help... _please_ ….Nova Scotia is...pain...blizzard coming...help."

"Thanks again for helping him, America," Canada murmured into his brother's jacket.

"No probs," America said. "He's family."

"Hold on," Italy squeaked. "There was also a blizzard?"

Canada pulled out of America's grip and faced the Mediterranean nation. "Y-yeah. The next day, one of the worst storms in Halifax's history hit, killing even more people who didn't have adequate shelter and slowing down rescue and relief efforts."

Francis carefully laid him down on his stomach on one of the couches in the tent and the last thing Matthew felt before his eyes rolled up in his head was a knife cutting away at his uniform to get at the wound beneath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a bit of backlash when I first posted this, with people saying that the provinces and territories weren't Matthew's children. They're not. While they are siblings, the provinces and territories are much younger than Matthew and I see them having the same kind of relationship as Matthew and Francis have. Technically siblings, but the older one raised the younger one in loco parentis and therefore is their 'dad'.


	27. Canada's Hundred Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following their victory at Vimy Ridge, the Canadian Corps has a one hundred day streak of victories that consequently help bring an end to the war. Matthew himself is feeling the weight of the years away start bearing down on his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering, the poem is called "In Flanders Fields" and it was written by Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae. It really is a beautiful poem. You should check it out.

A shiver went up France's spine as he remembered the wound on his brother's back that day. A third-degree burn had been bad enough, but when they went to change the bandages in the morning, they discovered the edges of the wound, plus quite a bit of previously untouched flesh, had severe frostbite killing the healing skin.

"It's fine, papa," Canada said, moving to put a hand on the other country's shoulder. "It's not your fault. Not yours or Norway's," he added as an afterthought.

Quite a few of the more northern nations were in shock. They above all the other countries understood the dangers of blizzards and the effects they could have on a city. The Nordics were comforting Norway who was staring at the place where the phantom Matthew had disappeared, his gaze focused on the back of the small man's smoldering uniform.

Once everything had quieted down and Norway had apologized profusely to Canada, who insisted it wasn't his fault and all was forgiven, everyone turned their gazes back to where the memories would begin playing again.

Matthew sat in the crowded bar and tapped his empty mug, signalling for the bartender to bring him another beer. When it was presented in front of him he took a long swig of the drink and leaned back against his chair, sighing as he did so. The war was over, a hasty surrender by the Central Powers marking the end to the slaughter and fighting. The bar was filled with soldiers and their families or men waiting to go home.

"Zhey do seem to be zhe best place to go vhen someone vants to celebrate," Prussia agreed with a brash laugh.

Matthew wished he was among them, but Arthur had told him that he needed to stay until after the terms of the peace treaty were discussed and finalised. The young Canadian fiddled with the dog tags around his neck, one belonging to him and the other to Thomas. He wished the boy had been there to see the end, but that would never happen.

Prussia's good mood instantly sobered as he remembered the underage boy Canada had befriended, the boy who'd died because of him and his brother.

Taking another drink, Matthew ran through the lines of a poem he didn't know he knew.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

_Amiens, Matthew decided, was probably one of his most surprising attacks of the war yet, even more so than Vimy. He watched in silence under the moonless sky with the rest of his men as the planes from the RAF were given the signal and began their flight over No Man's Land, bringing a large smokescreen with them as they went._

" _Alright, boys," he said, "Let's go."_

_They charged out of the trenches, guns blazing and artillery and tanks rumbling behind them._

"Holy shit," Romano said in awe as he took in the hundreds of tanks and the thousands of aircrafts.

Germany leaned over. "Zhat vas my zhoughts exactly."

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Beer Bastard!"

"Fratello! Be nice to Germany!"

_Unlike with Vimy, there was no bombardments or artillery shots preceding the battle, there was nothing to even hint to the enemy that they were there. He watched in morbid satisfaction as the Germans were caught totally unprepared by the Canadian men and scrambled to their defenses only to find them surrounded by their opponents or already captured. Matthew and his men surged through the woods to clear the German positions and take prisoners. Matthew noted that many of them surrendered on the first chance. It seemed the Canadian troops's growing reputation wasn't only among the Allies._

"You know we called you guys 'Storm Troopers' for that exact reason." England said, crossing his arms as he said so.

"You did?" Canada asked in surprise. "I thought that was just Germany."

"No," the German chuckled. "Zhough ve vere terrified of jou."

Canada blushed bright red and buried his face in his polar bear's fur.

_Another battle, one at the Hindenburg Line, Matthew deemed too easy. It took his men only two days to break through the defensive line that had been there for over two years and send the Germans running with their tails between their legs._

Australia laughed and clapped the Canadian on the back.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunsets glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

In Flanders fields.

_Cambrai was considerably harder to take than the two previous battles Matthew had been in. It was clear to Matthew that this was the place that would take the most effort to win back from the Germans in this part of the war. Using the same creeping barrage technique that had helped his troops win the battle at Vimy Ridge, the Canadians assaulted a dry part of the canal surrounding the German defenses and Matthew watched as men fell around him and wished with all his heart that they hadn't been there at that moment. Their sacrifices weren't in vain, though, and by the end of the day the canal had been secured and the first objective captured. The purple eyed man looked at the bodies half buried in the flooded terrain and felt a pang in his chest at the thought that they would be greeting their families - if they won the war, which was seeming much more likely now - in coffins or not at all._

" _It'll be over soon," he assured several of the conscripted boys, silently cursing his government for forcing young men overseas._

Canada grumbled several French curses into Mr. Kumajiro's side that had France sigh in disappointment, but he didn't chastise his brother.

_They only nodded and took up the positions to defend against the German counter attacks. Matthew was right and within several days, Cambrai was theirs._

_Matthew knew the symbolic value behind Mons, it being in German possession for four years and all, but attacking and taking the city without destroying it? Sure, he had faith in his men, but his commanders really were asking for too much, especially given the nature of the way they would have to take Mons. Boys and men stood next to him as they circled the city and opened fire on the Germans, trying desperately to counterattack their machine guns._

_Three days later, in the early morning of November 11th, the Canadians had succeeded in liberating Mons without considerable damage done to the city. People came up to him, thanking him and his men for freeing them. For the first time in a long time, people roamed the streets without fear. Matthew even had a little girl shyly offer him a flower which he then kept in his uniform pocket until it wilted._

_When the armistice went into effect, Matthew nearly sobbed with relief. Finally, on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, the war was over. Even still, Matthew knew it had come at a large cost. All the men that had died in those four bloody years was astounding. Without being told, Matthew also knew he had lost the last casualties among the British Commonwealth forces, a private who had died two minutes before peace was declared._

England squeezed his shoulder in silent support, both an apology and a thank you.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from flailing hands we throw

The torch be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

"That was a beautifur poem," Japan said, vowing to learn it when they got back to the meeting.

"Thanks," Canada said shyly. "It's called _In Flanders Fields_ by one of my men, a Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae. He wrote it next to the grave of a friend who had died in the second battle of Ypres. It's probably the most known Canadian poems, at least of the twentieth century."

Japan memorized the name for when he got back, now even more intrigued by the poem.

Shaking his head to rid himself of those thoughts, Matthew reminded himself that everything was over and as soon as the details of the peace treaty were figured out, he could go home and try to move on. The dog tags around his neck seemed heavier than usual, as though they were carrying the weight of all those memories Matthew didn't want to think about. He brought the glass once again to his lips and took another gulp.

"Hey, Matt!"

Something flung itself on his back and Matthew's drink spewed from his lips as he started in surprise, going for the pistol he still kept on his waist before he realized who it was. "Seriously Alfred? Really mature." he grumbled as he mopped up the spilt beer with his handkerchief.

"Still jumpy, I see," France noted, glaring slightly at England.

Canada sighed in resignation and moved between the two where he'd be in a position to quickly stop any fights that would inevitably break out sooner or later.

"Sorry," Alfred said, sliding into the seat across from him, not sounding very sorry at all. "But you were looking so deep in thought over here and I couldn't pass up the opportunity."

Matthew rolled his eyes at his brother's antics. "Of course you couldn't. What's up?"

"Nothing much," Alfred grinned, "Except we're going home!"

"Yeah," Matthew said with a slight bitterness. "But not until the Treaty can be signed. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy I get to sign it as my own representation," he added hastily, "It's just, well, you've been here for what? Less than two years? I've been gone for _four_. I haven't been back home since then, not even when it was time for my leave to start. There was always too much work to do or I was recovering or helping Arthur or Francis recover. You weren't exactly there to help."

Alfred frowned slightly. "I am sorry, but I couldn't help until I got my government's permission. And besides, everyone knows the Hero always swoops in at the last moment to save the day."

Matthew rolled his eyes again, but this time there was a small gin on his face. "I know, I've already forgiven you."

"Well come on then," the blue-eyed brother stood and motioned to the door. "Iggy and Francis are waiting for us outside."

Standing up quickly from his chair, Matthew threw down a handful of coins onto the table and ran to catch up with his brother. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Slipped my mind," Alfred shrugged.

" _Seriously_?"


	28. Bloody Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew quickly realizes that though the war may be over, there are still battles left to be fought.

England put his head in his hands and sighed in disappointment, wondering where he'd gone wrong in raising that boy. America, oblivious as ever, was laughing with Canada as they reminisced the lecture the two of them had gotten from Arthur before Francis had interrupted and told the British man he looked 'très adorable' with his face all red like that and Arthur had proceeded to pummel the other man.

Matthew walked down the stairs, yawning and blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he reached into the cupboard and grabbed the ingredients for pancakes. He smiled slightly as he fell into the familiar routine that hadn't been followed for over four years. It was nice to be home. He mixed the batter absentmindedly and poured it onto the frying pan and let the pleasant sizzling sound fill the air as the smell of pancakes wafted up the stairs to his soon to be awake children. He'd only been home for a few weeks and he still woke up every morning wondering if it had just been a dream and expecting to hear the sounds of shells firing overhead. Matthew gave a quiet laugh as he remembered the reunion between him and his kids.

_Matthew ran a hand through his hair and dropped his duffle bag on the porch of a large mansion and rapped the knocker against the door several times before stepping back to wait for it to open. Several heartbeats later, the sound of footsteps padded towards the door and he was greeted with the face of Sir Robert Borden, his Prime Minister. The man looked haggard, as though he hadn't slept in days and Matthew suspected that the mountains of paperwork from the Treaty was a large part of it. He also had a sneaking suspicion about the other part._

_"Ah, Matthew," Borden smiled warmly, the expression looking strange on his sleepless face. "They've been asking after you since we got your telegram. Come inside, please."_

_Leaving his bag on the steps, Matthew accepted the man's invitation and entered the house. Looking around, Matthew chuckled slightly. The house looked like it had been hit by a tornado._

_Borden followed his gaze and sighed. "The maids cleaned in here just yesterday. How you put up with them, I'll never know."_

America laughed. "I feel bad for anyone who gets them and mine in the same house. The house won't even bye standing by the time they're done."

_"They're my kids," Matthew said, as if that explained everything. "Speaking of which, where are they?"_

_"Probably upstairs waiting for you to come home. Kids!" Borden called up the stairs. "Your dad's here!"_

"Canada," England said with slight annoyance, turning to the young country. 'Perhaps you could tell us who's who, consider we haven't met them yet."

Canada winced apologetically. "Sorry about that. Alright, you already know that Oliver is the representation of Nova Scotia and between eight and nine years old. Ontario and Québec, also known as Jack and Pierre, are twins and the two oldest at about ten. Frederick is New Brunswick and he's the same age as Oliver. Manitoba is Sam and the North-West Territories is Emma. They're both eight. British Columbia is Hannah and she's eight too, but a bit younger than the other two. Anne is Prince Edward Island and she's six. Yukon is between five and six and his name is Dawson. Saskatchewan is six and her name is Charlotte. Alberta is also six and his name is Edmund. The last two haven't joined me at this point in the memories, but I'll tell you anyways. They're my youngest, about two or three years old. Nunavut is Adam and Newfoundland's name is John."

Canada took a deep breath following the end of his long explanation and peeked up at his fellow nations through his bangs to gouge their reactions.

Germany was standing there with a blank face but a calculating expression in his eyes that made Canada gulp. Italy was still for once, not moving but staring at the frozen memories like he was trying to match the names with their province or territory. Denmark's mouth was open and he was gaping like a fish, mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out. Even Russia was silent, trying to absorb the information the small Canadian had rattled off so quickly.

"Right," England cleared his throat after a moment and turned to America. "Now for yours."

America took a step back and threw his hands up in a placating gesture. "Dude, we'd be here all night. Canada has thirteen kids and it took him several minutes to explain. I have fifty. We'd all go grey before I'd finish, not to mention they aren't even here."

"Fine," England grumbled before focusing his attention again on the memories.

_The effect was instantaneous. Eleven kids of varying ages scrambled down the stairs, tripping over each other in an effort to get there the quickest. Matthew swore that a few of them slid down the banisters or jumped over the railing completely._

_Matthew winced slightly as eleven bodies slammed into him and a hug with various calls of "Dad!" and one "Papa!" and squeezed him so tightly he felt he couldn't breathe._

France was still muttering sourly about how "mon bébé has bébés and I never knew", but even his heart warmed at the reunion between Matthew and his kids.

_He ruffled the hair of the nearest kid and blinked back his tears before turning to Borden, who had been watching with polite fascination. "Thanks for taking care of them while I was away. Is there any way I can repay you?"_

_"No. Just-" Borden shuddered. "Just don't ask me to take care of them ever again."_

Denmark smirked. "Sounds like they're troublemakers. Can I-"

"No," Canada said immediately. "You cannot corrupt them even more than they already are. And yes, you saw what I was like when I was younger. These kids not only have my personalities, but the massive amounts of immigrants in their provinces or territories has an effect on their personalities, too. So yes, I'd say they are troublemakers."

Matthew smiled again as he piled the pancakes into a large stack on a plate and turned around only to start in surprise. The kids were already sitting at the table, plates ready and butter and syrup before them, looking hungrily at the plate of pancakes in Matthew's hand. Matthew just laughed and set the plate on the table before getting out of the way as they lunged for the pancakes.

"Thanks, Dad!" Frederick said through a mouthful of syrupy mess.

Matthew just sighed and handed him a napkin. Then he noticed two pancakes had been left untouched on the plate and did a mental tally of the kids seated at the table.

He frowned. "Where's Sam?"

Jack wiped his milk-mustache on his napkin and threw the crumpled up napkin at Pierre, who glared at him before turning away in a huff. "I think he's upstairs, he mentioned he wasn't feeling well last night." He then returned to pelting his twin with napkins.

America leaned over to Canada. "And who do those two remind you of?"

Canada's gaze wandered over to where his two of his brothers were fighting, again, "England and France," he said with a laugh.

"Behave," Matthew told his kids sternly before walking over to the stairs to find his missing province.

The wooden banister was smooth along his hand as he climbed the stairs, feet dragging over the carpet in the direction of the boy's wing of rooms. A soft sniffle caught his attention and he pushed open Sam's door to see the small boy huddled under the blankets in his bed, facing away from Matthew.

"Hey Sam," Matthew whispered, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Are you feeling alright?"

The province rolled over and sat up slightly against Matthew, his shaggy blond hair lying limp against his head and slick with sweat. He mutely shook his head, not saying a word.

"Look at me," Matthew said softly. When Sam reluctantly lifted his head to reveal a face flushed with a fever and bloodshot blue eyes, Matthew leaned back in surprise. "You're not okay."

"I'm fine," Sam sniffed. "Are there any pancakes left?" But even as he said that Matthew could tell that the thought made him sick.

"I'll make you some soup," Matthew said, smiling reassuringly as he left the room, but his mind was preoccupied with reasons why his son might be sick. He knew that there was an unrest among the workers in Manitoba, but that alone shouldn't make Sam as sick as he was.

Making his way absentmindedly back down the stairs, he was almost to the floor when a flash of pain throbbed through his head. His foot missed the step and he went tumbling down the last couple of stairs to the wooden planks below.

Russia let out a rumbling laugh that had the Baltic states shuddering and trying to shuffle away from the large man without being seen.

"Ow," Matthew groaned, holding the side of his head as stars flashed before his eyes. He could already tell by the intensity of the headache that something very bad was happening.

Footsteps bounded into the room and Jack and Pierre each gripped one of his arms and helped him stand.

"Are you okay, Dad?" Jack asked, his thick eyebrows furrowing in concern.

"Yeah," Matthew mumbled. "I need to go to Parliament. Something bad is happening."

The twins exchanged looks. " What do you need us to do?" Pierre asked.

"I need you two to watch the others. I might be gone for a little while, so take good care of them." Matthew said as he ran to the coat rack and pulled on his large overcoat. "Pierre, I need you to make Sam some soup. Don't let Jack help you," He added and watched the small Québécois smirk in the direction of his brother.

"He has England's skill with cooking," Canada explained.

"My cooking is bloody fine! You sods have no taste!"

France smirked and tossed his hair behind him, purposely hitting the Englishman in the process.

Jack grabbed Matthew's sleeve and prevented him from leaving. "What's going on?"

Matthew bit his lip and looked fearfully up at the second story of the house where his son was sleeping in bed. "I don't know," he admitted.

oO0Oo

Matthew was about ready to tear his hair out. He paced back and forth in the city hall of Winnipeg, arguing with his Prime Minister over the phone. "What do mean 'deporting even the British-born strikers'? Do you realize how much that will cripple the economy once the strike is resolved? Wh-? Absolutely not!" Matthew yelled into the phone after Borden tried to explain his solution. "I swear, Borden if you do this-" Matthew paused in his rant as the dial tone sounded from the phone, signaling the end of the conversation.

"That's rude," Ukraine huffed.

Letting out a growl of frustration, Matthew slammed the phone back on the hook, startling the secretary who jumped at his desk. Grumbling, Matthew made his way to the small house he kept in the city and stomped into his room and flopped down on the bed. He buried his face into the pillow and cursed his government.

England patted Canada's back sympathetically, watching as the younger version of his brother muttered profanities into the soft cushion. "It's alright, lad. We all do it at some point."

Of course, Borden had to send him with the other members of the North-West Mounted Police in the hopes of calming the situation, not realizing that in doing so, he was making thing much worse. He'd already had twelve people arrested and it didn't look like Borden would stop there. With every day the strike went on and gathered intensity, Matthew's headache increased and bringing the Mounted Police into it had sent white through his vision as the strikers in Winnipeg raged at the news.

There was a polite knock at his door and Matthew pushed himself out of bed to open the door, only to see the mayor of Winnipeg standing there, looking fretfully around at the streets. "What do you want?" he asked. It came out harsher than he meant it to. "Sorry. Is there any reason you are here?" he tried again, this time more respectfully.

"Um, yes. I just wanted to tell you that the rest of the Mounties are here. You said you wanted to know when they arrived," the Mayor reminded him.

"Right," Matthew ran a hand down his face. How was it they were here already? He'd only sent the request for help four days ago. "Thank you," he said before closing the door in the man's face.

Collecting himself in front of the bedroom mirror, Matthew flung open the closet doors and grabbed the scarlet uniform.

oO0Oo

The shouting was what Matthew heard first, followed by the sounds of a scuffle. He quickly spurred his horse to go faster, the other Mounties following suit. Matthew road into the crowd of strikers and lifted his pistol into the air, firing a blank straight up into the air. He hoped that would get the attention of the strikers and cause them to stop in whatever they were doing. Unfortunately, it seemed to have the exact opposite effect Matthew wanted.

"Vhat made jou zhink zhat it vould be a good idea?" Prussia said after barking out a laugh.

Canada blushed. "I don't even know what I was thinking then."

The men sitting next to him on horseback seemed to take that as a cue to attack and charged the strikers, firing real shots as they went.

Matthew watched in horror as what was supposed to be a controlled situation soon escalated into chaos. He could only imagine the pain that Sam must be going through and hoped that Jack and Pierre could comfort him.

Canada tensed his jaw and tried not to think of it.

The only thing he could do was ride in the direction of the nearest phone and call for help yet again to control the troops that had been supposed to provide the help in the first place.

By nightfall, the city's streets were being occupied almost militaristically by federal troops. The citizens of Winnipeg hid fearfully in their homes, waiting for peace to return to the city. Matthew himself sat on a park bench, him being a nation the only reason he was allowed on the streets after curfew. Gazing at the bloodstains on the streets, Matthew realized that while the Great War may be over, it would be a long time before things returned to normal.


	29. Blue Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew participates in the attack on Hitler's Fortress Europe at Dieppe. Things do not go to plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I started kind of smack dab in the middle of WW2, but aside from the failed defense of Hong Kong, the Canadian army didn't do anything until Dieppe and I didn't know how to write the defense of Hong Kong without offending anyone or opening sensitive wounds, so I just left it be.

The nations were quiet as they mused upon the fact that it was true that things took a long time to return to normal, especially with the Great War. And just when things had been starting to look better, the Great Depression had affected many of the still healing countries.

"Was he alright?" Ukraine said finally.

Canada blinked. "Sam? Yeah, he was fine. Just got a bad cold out of it."

Satisfied, the nations turned back to the memories.

The large room was silent as Matthew clicked the radio off. The living room in which he and the provinces and territories were huddled in seemed to have dropped ten degrees since Prime Minister Mackenzie King's words echoed through the radio's speakers. Matthew leaned forwards and buried his face in his hands. He'd spent the time since the Great War finished to try and _forget_ everything that had happened. He'd focused his efforts not on his military, but instead on the people and their needs. Aside from the Winnipeg General Strike and a bit of arguing with his brothers over petty things in negotiations, he'd done his best to remain peaceful in the hopes that maybe his country could have peace. Clearly, it hadn't gone as expected.

"You know we didn't force you into it this time," England said softly. "Neither you nor your people had to go."

"I know," Canada gave a small smile. "But my choice would never have been in doubt; you guys are my brothers and even if I wasn't bound by the Empire anymore, I still would have come and helped. I just hadn't expected the time to come so soon."

"Are you leaving?" Emma asked without meeting Matthew's eyes.

Matthew bent down and hugged her, not saying anything for a long while before she released him. "I have to go. We're at war and they need me."

"But we need you here," Edmund piped up. "Where will we go?"

"You'll stay with the Prime Minister like last time," Matthew said, surveying all his children. "Just don't drive him insane like last time," he added jokingly.

None of the provinces or territories smiled. They just exchanged looks of fear and sadness that wasn't missed by Matthew.

"It's alright," he said. "I'll come back."

After a moment's hesitation, Jack said, "We'll miss you."

Matthew smiled reassuringly but his eyes were misting over. "I'll miss you too."

oO0Oo

Matthew surveyed the map laid in front of him. The Royal Canadian Navy was situated in the Atlantic, fighting the German U-boats as they tried to cripple the convoys sending supplies to Europe and some of his airmen still hovered over Britain, but most had moved on after the battle in the air was over. But unlike in the last war where they had been given the majority of the battles, the only time his army had been actively engaged in the fighting was during the fail defense of Hong Kong.

Canada winced, remembering what had happened to the POWs of that battle. Seeming to see the small gesture, Japan flinched, he too remembering what his countrymen had done to those captured soldiers.

Thousands of Matthew's men were waiting excitedly for the time when they would get involved in the fight against Germany. Matthew himself was waiting for Arthur, the excitement from his men coursing through him. The other man had requested his presence over an hour ago but had still not shown. Matthew was starting to wonder if wonder if Arthur had gotten lost in his own camp when the door banged open and Arthur entered, slamming several thick documents on the table before Matthew.

Before Matthew had a chance to examine the papers, Arthur pointed a small spot on the occupied French coast. "This is Dieppe.

Both Canada and France flinched slightly.

Your job is going to be to take the beach, hold a perimeter around the town, destroy the harbour facilities, and then withdraw by sea. Any questions?" Without waiting for Matthew answer, he rushed on. "Good. The rest of your information is in the package in front of you. Dismissed."

Blinking, Matthew stood and walked out the door. "Nice to see you too," he muttered.

England winced at the glares he was getting from countries berating him for the way he was treating Matthew.

oO0Oo

Matthew craned his neck to look above the heads of the other men in the landing craft as they approached the stretch of sand codenamed Blue Beach. The rest of the men from the Royal Regiment of Canada were silent, most checking their gear and packs one last time. A few whispered hushed prayers in voices no louder than the light wind. Matthew himself tucked a piece of loose hair behind his ear and turned to the men. "Ten seconds," he whispered.

There was a strange feeling in his gut and a soft voice in the back of his head that he chose to ignore - a voice that told him they were not at all prepared for what was to come.

"Jou should learn to listen to zhat voice," Prussia berated. "Many battles are von because a commander listened to his gut instinct."

"Well, I wasn't in charge," Canada said shrugging. "Besides, we'd already postponed the attack once, I doubt my commanding officers would have wanted to do it a second time on the basis of a _gut instinct_."

Bullets began ricocheting off the metal siding and the men huddled down in an effort to escape the explosions rocking the craft as artillery shells slammed into the waters beside them, causing large waves to swamp the boat and the men inside it.

"Five seconds," Matthew said and flicked the safety off his rifle.

The moment the landing craft breached the shore, the ramp slammed down and Matthew's men stormed out onto the beach. The Germans were waiting and they were met with a hail of bullets that took down the first of them on the beach. Matthew himself stumbled in the surf as the man in front of him convulsed as a smattering of bullets entered his chest. Leaping over the man's fallen body, Matthew spared one glance at the soldier and silently wished him well in whichever afterlife he believed in.

_Rat-a-tat-rat-a-tat-rat-a-tat._

Matthew dove behind a half-exploded pillbox and waited for the sounds of the machine gun to move directions. When it did, he peeked out from his concrete hiding place and notice several men running towards him. They slide into position beside him and Matthew nodded to the two of them. He knew them without introductions. Private Hugh and Private Mackie from the Royal Highland Regiment. Matthew nodded to the two of them and assessed their position once more.

"What do we do, Major?" Hugh asked and Matthew bit his lip before turning back to the men

"Do any of you have explosives?"

"They won't do you much good," Ireland crossed his arms. "They've got you boys pinned down."

Mackie shook his head. "Robbie was carrying our section's charges but a fucking Jerry got him the moment we left the craft."

Germany winced at both the name and the thought of the boy's death.

Matthew cursed and ducked as a small hand grenade went flying past. He took a deep breath, "Okay, here's what we're going to do-"

But he was cut off by a thick curtain of smoke dropping from a plane far above.

"Get to the seawall!" Matthew shouted, "The smokescreen will cover you!"

"Oh, thank you," America said, looking up at the plane the smoke had dropped from.

His footsteps pounded through the red-soaked sand as bullets whirred and screamed overhead. He was pretty sure several found their marks in him, but they only slowed him down momentarily in his rush to get to the seawall. Twice he slipped on something that had an odd shape and he hoped with all his heart that they were just rocks, but he knew better. The third time he stumbled, his foot had gotten caught in the straps of a munitions bag. How it hadn't exploded yet was beyond him but he picked it up and slid the straps over his shoulder as he continued running. Finally, he slid into the seawall, slamming his back against it in an effort to make himself a smaller target. The man next to him was a Lieutenant who was shouting into his handheld radio about Blue Beach being impenetrable and the need for evacuations. Matthew stood by the other man and threw grenades into the concrete bunkers that protected the machine guns that were closest to him. All that came from the radio was silent crackling and Matthew was beginning to wonder if the handset had broken when a staticky voice came through. Matthew stained his ears thearre the words. " _All forces fall back to the landing craft...I repeat, fall back."_

Those were the sweetest words Matthew could think of. He pushed himself off the seawall and ran back down the beach, the smokescreen disappearing all the while. Several times Matthew came across dead men from his regiment and he felt momentary pangs of sadness each time one of their faces appeared out of the smoke.

There was so many, it momentarily shocked many of the nations. They'd known about the failed Canadian raid on Dieppe, but the sheer number of bodies on that small portion of the beach was stunning.

At the silent question, Canada gave them the answer they both wanted to hear and didn't want to think about. "In nine hours, there was over three thousand Canadian casualties and almost two thousand men were taken prisoner."

" _Please_ …"

Matthew stopped in his tracks when he heard the plea. He quickly spotted a man lying half buried in the crater of an explosion and wondered briefly if the man had been there when the explosion went off. As he ran closer, he noticed familiarities in the face smeared with blood. "Mackie?"

The soldier squinted. "Is that you, Major? What are you doing?"

"Yeah, it's me," Matthew said, feeling around Mackie's bloody leg for the wound. "Are you alright to walk? We're retreating to the landing crafts."

Mackie's head fell back in relief. "Oh, thank God. I'll be fine." He tried to stand but only made it halfway to his feet when his leg gave out beneath him and he collapsed back on the sand.

Matthew put his arms under Mackie's shoulders and pulled him up, helping him stand. Together, with Matthew supporting Mackie's weight, the two of them stumbled towards where the ramp of the landing craft was just beginning to pull it's ramp up. "Wait!" Matthew cried and waded into the shallow waters to grab the ramp. He pushed Mackie up and then pulled himself onto the boat. He rolled onto his back and took a few deep breaths to calm himself before he sat up.

The first thing he noticed was the lack of the men on the craft. Not including him and Mackie, there was eleven men on board. Eleven men on a boat that could fit at least thirty. He noticed with a sinking heart that Hugh wasn't with them.

"I never knew what happened to him, but he was dead by the end of the war." Canada said, mouth turned down in a frown.

France put a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for trying."

"Where-" He croaked and noticed just how dry his throat had become. Another man handed him a bottle of water which he accepted gratefully and drank half to loosen the dust that caked his mouth. "Where are the others?"

Several soldiers exchanged glances. "We're the ones that got off. There's a few more crafts, but other than that, the rest are stuck on the beach."

Matthew turned in horror to the pilot of the boat who had begun to pull away from the beach. "Can't you wait for them?"

The pilot shook his head. "Sorry, Major, but I've waited long enough. I've got to get these men back to safety. The rest are already gone. It's over."

As the landing craft cut through the red waters, Matthew turned to see the beach one last time. The sounds of machine gun fire had still and explosions no longer rocked the landscape. It seemed that Matthew's men had surrendered. Though that meant that there was absolutely no chance of getting them off the beach, Matthew looked at the bodies lying in twisted positions in the sand and knew that at least those captured men might have a chance at living, a better chance that what they would have if they'd continued fighting.

A sob broke him from his thoughts and Matthew looked over to see Mackie clutching at his leg, the fabric of which was being cut away by a surviving medic. Matthew leaned over and brushed Mackie's sweat damp hair from his face. "It's over," Matthew repeated. "It's okay. It's over."


	30. The Hour Is Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew and the Canadians storm Juno Beach on D-Day, AKA another time Canada was BAMF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter comes from a section of the poem 'The Hour Is Go' commemorating D-Day paratroopers by an author whose name I couldn't find. The section I took the title from goes like this: "Our eyes are now down and the chatter the same. Each weapon now loaded, no longer a game. Jumpers gather round and bow your heads low. Europe awaits and the hour is go." I know I didn't write Canada as a paratrooper, but I thought the poem was really cool and I liked that last line so I made it into my chapter title.

Canada stood with his head bowed low, ashamed of his failed operation. Not that it had been entirely the fault of his men. Their reinforcements had arrived late and planning had been poor to begin with. He would forever curse both his and England's governments for sending so many ill-prepared and untrained men to take the objective.

As if sensing his little brother's turmoil, France hugged him. "Thank you so much for trying. I felt your men on the beaches and it gave me hope that you were all fighting hard to rescue me. Merci."

Across the 'room', Germany shifted uncomfortably on his feet, staring blankly at the place where the memory had faded. Prussia too was looking down and wouldn't meet anyone's eyes. Though he would never admit it, he was upset that he'd hurt his best friend and his best friend's son. The Canadian was so young, looking barely nineteen in human years and still younger by nation standards. The thought that they'd cause so much trauma to such a young country was unbearable to Prussia. Canada was one of the only ones who still treated him like a friend after his dissolution and even gave him co-ownership of a small town called New Prussia. It wasn't even enough to make him be considered a micronation, but it was enough to keep him alive. He owned so much to the Canadian and felt terrible that he was forced to relieve some of his worst memories. Making up his mind, Prussia walked over Canada and gripped his shoulder in silent support as the memories swirled back to life.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Matthew stood around the table with his brothers. Well, all but one. There was a pang of rage and sorrow that coursed through his chest whenever he looked at Francis's empty seat and again he vowed to free his brother if it was the last thing he ever did. Aside from his missing papa, Matthew's family stood around a large map of the coast of France, arguing as usual. Alfred and Arthur were fighting over something - they were pointing at the beaches on the map and then making wild hand gestures so Matthew guessed it had something to do with that.

"He wanted to codename my beaches Baby and Wanker instead of Utah and Omaha." America pouted.

England rolled his eyes. "That's because you were acting like both, so I thought it only appropriate."

Jett was leaning back in his chair and had his feet propped up on the table in front of him, smoking a cigarette and watching on in amusement. Technically, he was only a Captain and shouldn't have been at the meeting, but he was there anyway. Jett, Matthew noted with the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, always seemed to be able to get to places Arthur didn't want him to be.

Australia smirked at the irritated look England sent him.

'This is getting ridiculous,' Matthew realized when a shoe - why a shoe? - went flying past his head, obviously having been thrown moments before by either Arthur or Alfred. "Guys!"

They didn't respond or stop in their arguments and Matthew sighed. He was debating different ways to get their attention when Jett stood up and snuffed out the butt of his cigarette on the oak tabletop, leaving a black scorch mark. Arthur would flip out when he noticed. "I got this," He took a deep breath and raised his voice so it was just below yelling in volume. "Would you look at that, mate! Them Jerries are here!"

That got both Arthur and Alfred's attention. Alfred whirled around with his pistol drawn and fired several shots into the open doorway before seeming to realize that Jett had only said that to get his attention. "Dude! Not cool!"

"Much as I hate to agree with him," Arthur said, crossing his arms. "That was not funny, lad."

Italy laughed. "It kind of was, vee~"

Jett shrugged but a smile dance across his face. "It got you to stop fighting, didn't it?"

"Thank you, Jett," Matthew intervened before the fighting could start up again. "Shouldn't we get back to the task at hand?" he asked, gesturing to the large map of coastal France that laid spread before them on the table.

"Right," Arthur cleared his throat and smoothed out his rumpled green uniform, returning to the peak of professionalism. "Jett, you'll be fighting with me at Sword and Gold, mostly in the air and providing paratroopers." He looked up and the Australian's green eyes, usually sparkling with mirth were deadly serious. "Alfred," Arthur pointed to two more sections of beach. "Wanker and Baby-"

Laughter rippled across the crowd of nations. When you put England and America in a room together, you had to have popcorn ready because the comedy value was sheer gold.

"Omaha and Utah!"

"Fine. Omaha and Utah are yours to control. Will you be flying or fighting on the ground?"

"My boss wants me on the ground this time," Alfred said, kicking his feet over the arm of his chair.

"Okay. Matthew," Arthur gestured to a piece of sand sandwiched between his own objectives. "That leaves Juno for you. I also need you to give some paratroopers to go with Jett's," He met Matthew's eyes and gave him a silent message. Don't fail this time.

"It vas not his fault," Germany said. "My men vere too vell prepared and ve had ze advantage."

England rolled his eyes. "I don't agree, but Dieppe was a necessary evil. Many lives were saved at Normandy because of his failure on those beaches."

Canada just looked down at the floor and didn't respond to either comment.

Matthew felt the heat creeping up his neck and cheeks at the silent reprimand. "Of course."

oO0Oo

The winds whipped around Matthew, blowing his blond curls around his face and bringing a cooling breeze to counteract the warm English morning. He stood ankle deep in the surf, looking out onto the English channel but not focusing on anything. He was thinking. Thinking of how he was so close to his papa but not within reach. Of how if everything went right with Operation Overlord the next day, they would bring with them the hope of a free country that France hadn't seen for four years.

France kissed Canada's forehead in thanks.

But if things went wrong, that microscopic chance would disappear and everything would be set back several steps on the way to victory. Arthur had assured him that the operation would go as planned, but Matthew couldn't help but think back to the last time they had tried to attack Hitler's Fortress Europe. The beaches of Dieppe still haunted his dreams and the thought of his papa feeling that destruction was terrifying. The thought of never seeing his papa again was even worse.

Matthew heard the sand crunch behind him and felt rather than saw Alfred walk up to stand beside him. The two brothers stood in silence for a long time, gazing at the waters that separated them from their objective.

"It'll go fine," Alfred said softly, breaking the crushing silence between them.

"Yeah," Matthew agreed, keeping his eyes trained on the horizon as though if he tried really hard, he'd be able to see all the way to France. The cold waters of the English channel lapped around his feet and soaked through his shoes, but Matthew did care. He was savouring the calm before the battle that was to come.

Alfred nodded, searching for anything to say. It'd been years since the brothers had stood side by side like this and yet they were running out of things to say. The war had turned even the usually hyperactive American into a subdued soldier and while he would have usually made some sort of joke or wisecrack to lighten the mood, this Alfred couldn't bring himself to make fun of an impossible situation.

"And that's when you know things are serious," America joked. Unlike his past self, he had no qualms about laughing about a thing in the past.

"What if we're walking into a repeat of Dieppe?" Matthew said finally, turning to look at his brother with large purple eyes filled with worry. "Our forces won't be able to handle that - mine won't be able to handle that amount of loss again." He ducked his head, embarrassed at his moment of weakness.

A warm hand reached to grasp his shoulder and Matthew looked up to see Alfred smiling softly at him. "We learned from your mistakes. We won't have a repeat of Dieppe."

Worry eased by his brother's words, Matthew took one last glance at the channel before he turned around and slung his arm across Alfred's shoulders. "Then let's go."

oO0Oo

The sound of gunfire and explosions were already underway as Matthew lept from the landing craft and ran up the length of wet sand with his men. He hadn't seen either Jett or Arthur since the meeting a few nights previously and hoped to whatever beings there were above that they were okay.

Australia shrugged. "I don't know about him," he jerked his hand at England, "But I was out at a pub. I'd say I was fine."

Blood soaked the sand a dark crimson and the waters ran red with the lifeblood of the dead and dying. Matthew stumbled as a grenade exploded in front of him, blowing up one of his comrades and sending a mist of red into the air. Matthew simply ran around the crater and towards the pillbox that housed a machine gun and its operator. Slipping one of the grenades off his webbing as he ran, Matthew pulled the pin and threw it in the concrete box, stopping for just a moment to watch the small building explode then collapse on itself. He fought his way up the beach and onto the grassy hills that marked the boundary of the first objective. He vaguely wondered if the dirt and sand would be forever stained by the bloodshed on this day, but mostly Matthew's mind was consumed by the battle instincts; fight or flight, live or die.

As he reached the crest of the hill, he stopped for a second to catch his breath and look at the men behind him, calculating their numbers and comparing them with missions previous. Certainly more had made it off the beach and were fighting their way over the hills and into the towns - many more than the lucky few at Dieppe.

A stab of pain rippled through his head and blood spurted free of the wound and ran down his face.

Sealand and Italy jumped at the unexpected scene and clutched onto their friends for support.

Matthew reached up and touched the bullet hole in the center of his forehead, feeling it already begin to close up. Slowly, he turned around to see the man who'd shoot drop his gun in confusion as fear and bewilderment shone in his eyes. Without giving him a chance to comprehend what Matthew's healing meant or call for help, Matthew shot him in the neck, watching in satisfaction as the man crumpled to the ground.

Canada found his mouth go dry. He hated how when he was in battle, he found satisfaction or even pleasure in taking a life. He almost felt like it was a completely different person at the forefront of his mind, controlling his body in a way that wasn't like normal.

It took Matthew a few heartbeats to realize that the men he'd been running with were already halfway down the hill and he cursed, mopping up the blood from his face on his sleeve and following at a jog through the wildflowers and flora. As he ran down the hill, he could see in the distance the ant-sized figures of the paratroopers as they descended through the air and felt his heart lighten at the knowledge that another part of the operation had gone to plan. The gunfire was louder now and Matthew skidded to a stop behind an abandoned house at the edge of town. He was about to continue on when a whimper coming from inside the house caught his attention. Gun held in front of him, he crawled apprehensively through the window, well aware that it could be a trap set by the Germans to lure him or other men in or an unstable citizen that was somehow left behind and wouldn't recognize friend from foe.

But what greeted him was neither. In the darkness of the house, Matthew couldn't see anything and after a few moments, was about to leave when another whimper came from a corner draped in shadows. Matthew fumbled in his pack, still leaving one hand on the gun he sheathed at his side and withdrew a box of matches. Striking one, he watched the flame flicker to light, illuminating the room. In the light, the dust that lingered in the air became visible and Matthew noticed the corner of the house that was darkest was actually partially caved in, the top floor in shambles on the ground and the section of roof collapsed over the hole, cutting out all light. Matthew noticed all of this, but his attention was focused on the creature the whimpering noises were coming from. Half pinned by the debris, a small dog whimpered and whined when he saw Matthew, curling in on itself despite the wood and plaster covering its lower half.

Italy uncurled himself front Germany and smiled. "Vee~ what is a cucciolo doing there? It is very cute, though."

Matthew clenched his jaw. He could hear the gunfire and explosions coming from a few streets away and knew he should leave the house and join his comrades, but the kind-hearted boy inside him, the boy that only wanted peace for the whole world, made him stay.

"Hey buddy," Matthew said, lowering himself down on his knees to crawl towards the dog. "I'm going to help you, okay?"

The small black and brown dog didn't seem to understand and struggled harder, whimpering and whining with every movement made. Matthew carefully approached it and lifted the heavy planks of wood off the dog and swept the animal into his arms before it could escape. "I'm going to help you. Is that okay?"

He didn't get a response that he could decipher,

"No shit, Sherlock," England grumbled, still slightly upset from Germany's earlier comment and the memories they were watching.

but when Matthew moved his hand from the dog's leg and it came away red, he figured the dog needed his help if it ever stood a chance of living. Silently, Matthew poured a meager amount of water on the wound to wash away the dust and unbuttoned his uniform slightly to grab the moderately clean undershirt. He tore a section off and bound the dog's leg with it.

"You are so kind," Finland smiled. "If you like dogs, you can come and visit with Hanatamago some time."

Canada gave a soft smile. "I'd like that."

When he deemed the wrap to his satisfaction, Matthew stood and rebuttoned his shirt. He was about to head back out the window when the dog whined again and tried to limp towards him. Matthew smiled sadly. "You can't come." The dog didn't understand and continued towards him. "Stay boy," Matthew said. "I'll be safest for you here."

The dog whined again but laid back down in the corner. With a heavy heart, Matthew crawled back out the window and jogged down the street. He wished he could bring the dog with him, but he couldn't. Not into battle. And besides, perhaps the family of the dog would return once this was over, looking for their lost companion. The rubble on the street hindered his haste to get to the center of the town where the sounds of fighting was most prominent and several times Matthew came across the bodies of his comrades and he stopped to check if they were alive. They never were. Finally, though, Matthew turned a corner and ran into the town square.

Men fought before him in both combat of arms and hand to hand fighting. The sounds of ricocheting bullets was loud and when one of his men dropped unexpectedly, he knew that that was probably why. The fighting had clearly taken a toll on the town. Buildings were collapsed or being used as positions for snipers. The cobblestone streets that had once been filled with tourists and townsfolk now were littered with bodies. Blood ran into the storm drains and Matthew was careful not to slip in the puddles that pooled around the bodies.

France looked slightly sick at the sight of his once picturesque streets in such a state.

He took this all in a second, not wasting any time in the fighting. He hefted his Tommy gun and fired round after round at the enemy with the members of his regiment, forcing the Germans into retreat. It didn't take long for them to surrender and with their position secured, Matthew ordered one section of the regiment to stay and keep the town secured and the rest followed him as they advanced further inland on the path to victory.


	31. Brothers Bonded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of WW2 and the trials of the Beilschmidt brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I legitimately cried while writing this chapter.

Matthew wasn't sure what woke him first. Perhaps it was the smell of rain imminent on the horizon that even the canvas walls of the field hospital couldn't block out. Maybe it was the quiet whispers that came from the injured soldiers in the beds beside him. Or it could have been that Matthew just wasn't yet used to sleeping for so long without being interrupted by the sounds of explosions and gunfire in the distance. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and his attention was drawn by the soft snores coming from beside him.

Francis lay in the bed, still sleeping and recovering from D-Day and the Allies freeing his territory from the Germans. Arthur, who had been sitting next to Matthew, watching over Francis only because he claimed his boss had ordered him, was now slumped forwards with his head resting on Francis's chest, pen dripping ink on the papers in the hand that wasn't secured in a sling.

Sapin laughed and France wiggled his eyebrows at an increasingly reddening England. "Only because of that, cher? Or was it because you simply could resist sleeping with moi?"

 _CRUNCH_.

France rubbed his nose as England lowered his fist. "Don't even think about it, Frog."

It seemed that with the war now over, Arthur had finally allowed himself to relax slightly and all the trauma with the Blitz and the casualties in the previous months had caught up with him, causing him to fall into a near unconscious state. Matthew himself was also tired, but not to the same extent. No, his tiredness was more that of the soul. He was just tired of all the fighting and was immensely glad that the war was finally over. Then he frowned as he remembered what the price had been.

Something akin to pain flashed in Germany's eyes.

_The Canadian man stood with his brothers and allies as the Axis Powers were dragged to kneel in front of them in the meeting room._

The tone of the room immediately sobered as everyone realized exactly what this memory would entail. Eyes shifted to Prussia, whose back went ramrod straight and a carefully constructed mask of indifference settled over his features.

_Only Japan was still fighting, but judging from the murderous look on Alfred's face whenever someone mentioned him, Kiku wouldn't be in the war for much longer._

America shifted where he stood, guilt washing over him as he remembered seeing Japan's wounds after the surrender - wounds that he'd caused to a friend.

_Matthew knew that Alfred took the bombing of Pearl Harbour and his daughter's consequential injuries to the extreme and only hoped that there would be a Japan left to surrender and that Alfred didn't just blow the place to pieces. Matthew shook his head to clear away the horrifying images and returned his attention to the two men before him._

_Ludwig and Gilbert Beilschmidt, the two brothers whose countries were the catalysts for the start of the Second World War, were pushed to their knees in front of the Allies, both Germanic men looking worse for wear. Ludwig's hair, usually gelled back in perfect stokes was in disarray and longer than Matthew remembered it, as though the man had forgotten to cut it. Gilbert was thinner than he usually was, and his skin held a waxy sheen and was paler, if possible. But when his eyes met Matthew's, defiance still lingered in those crimson orbs. It was a look Matthew remembered well from his time as Francis's colony and suddenly he felt like a very small nation playing with a weapon he still didn't understand. Ludwig kept his eyes trained on the floor, shame and pain radiating off him. For the first time, Matthew was glad he was virtually invisible to his allies as he sent a hesitant smile of reassurance in Ludwig's direction, even though he knew the man would neither see it nor understand why it was directed at him. Matthew knew what it was like to have a boss that turned again his own people. He pushed back the idea of the internment camps and residential schools that so many of his fellow countries didn't know he had and instead focused his attention on Arthur._

Canada wouldn't meet any of the other countries' eyes as the thought of his mother, his ever so accepting mother, seeing what he'd done to his people.

_The green-eyed empire's left arm was bandaged and in a sling, but that didn't stop him from having an imposing presence as he studied the men whose countries and leaders had done horrible things to the world in the course of the previous six years. Looking as though he had all the time in the world, he flipped through the thick stacks of documents on the table before him, occasionally glancing up at the Germanic brothers with a raised eyebrow before returning his gaze to the papers. Finally, after several moments of silence, Arthur set the papers down and stood, striding over to stand beside Ivan and Alfred. "You boys are in big trouble."_

_Ludwig seemed to shrink into himself even more, but Gilbert's eyes flashed with silent defiance._

" _War crimes, crimes against humanity, and planning, initiating, and waging wars of aggression," Arthur stated as he looked down and the nations before him, "Over sixty million people are dead and it's your fault."_

_Gilbert's head snapped up and he growled, "It vasn't us! Ve only did it because of zhe Fuhrer's orders! Jou of all people should know zhat ve can't disobey our bosses!"_

_Ivan gave a childlike smile before slamming his metal pipe into the albino's face. Gilbert spat out a mouthful of blood that stemmed from his clearly broken nose. "That didn't stop you from enjoying it, da?"_

Poland glared at Prussia and Germany.

" _Nien," Ludwig spoke for the first time. He didn't look up from the floor. "I vish it never had happened."_

_The was momentarily silence before Francis spoke up. His voice was unusually cold as he said, "What's done is done and now you must face the consequences."_

_Matthew wondered if he remembered that the two men that kneeled before him were his best friend and his best friend's brother or if the war had clouded all judgment._

_Arthur seemed to take that as a cue to start speaking again. "Ludwig, as punishment for the crimes of your people, you are required to pay for the damages, a total of thirty-two billion US dollars, and your country will be divided amongst the Allies for an undetermined amount of time."_

_The blond sagged with the weight of those words but had a relieved air about him that his punishment wouldn't be worse._

Pain and horror filled Germany's face as he realized what would happen next. He pulled his brother into an awkward hug, ignoring Prussia's protests ("Get off, West! This is totally not awesome!") and refused to let go.

" _Gilbert," Arthur turned towards him with steel in his eyes. "As determined to be the guiding influence that led Germany to war, the Free State of Prussia is hereby abolished."_

Prussia froze in his brother's arms and slumped in defeat.

_It took a second for those words to sink in, then Gilbert's eyes widened and he began struggling against the restraints that bound him. "Nien! Jou can't do zhis! Please! I never supported zhe Fuhrer! Nien! Please!"_

_Pure panic flashed in those crimson eyes as the Allies walked back to where the official documents lay. One by one, the Allies wrote their names on the paper and with every signature, Matthew could see Gilbert weakening. By the time his turn rolled around, the Prussian was pale and sweating, the bags under his eyes more prominent than ever and his body trembling with pain. Matthew picked up the pen, and when it was an inch from the paper, he hesitated. He knew this man, knew that while rash and arrogant, he wasn't evil. Looking into the crimson orbs, Matthew realized that the only reason Gilbert went along with Hitler's orders was because his brother was already in the psychopath's grasp. He understood, he really did. He was a big brother too and would do anything to protect Alfred, no matter the consequences._

"Thanks?" America said hesitantly. "I don't know whether or not I should be worried."

Canada considered that for a moment, then shrugged, "To be honest, neither do I."

_It was that understanding that made Matthew hesitate. Before he could rethink his decision, Matthew scribbled down one more line to the text._

I, Matthew Williams, representation of the Dominion of Canada, do succeed the town of New Prussia, Ontario, to Gilbert Beilschmidt, personification of the Free State of Prussia, no matter the status of the country.

There were mixed reactions amongst the countries. Some, like Germany and Spain and France, were glad that Prussia was still around, no matter the crimes he may or may not have committed in the past. Other countries, like Poland and Russia, were slightly angry at the small Canadian for helping Prussia escape his punishment.

"We _will_ talk about this later," England promised with a tone that held no indication on whether or not he supported Canada's decision.

Both Canada and Prussia gulped in fear (though Prussia wouldn't admit it).

_Matthew looked up to see Arthur's eyes narrowing on him and managed a casual shrug. "Spelling mistake. You called me Canadia again." Then he wrote his name next to his section of the document._

_With the final signature down, the motion was passed. A pained gasp caught his attention and he, with the other Allies, whirled around to see blood dripping down Gilbert's chin as he fell to the ground, convulsing in pain, his blue uniform stained red with the colour of the wounds opening on his body. The Germanic man screamed and pleaded as blood soaked through his uniform, pooling beneath his body as it arched and twisted unnaturally in pain. Matthew was in shock. He'd never seen the proud man reduced to this kind of state, and it was clear his allies felt the same way because he could feel the emotions rippling through the room, but no one did anything to stop it._

Sealand, who was young enough that he'd never seen such things, whimpered and clutched onto Sweden's leg before burying his face in the fabric.

Prussia clenched his jaw and refused to make eye contact with anyone.

_For as long as he lived, he knew he'd never forget that scene and that Ludwig's anguished cry of "BRUDER!" would haunt his dreams for years to come._

"-o...Bro?"

A hand on his back brought Matthew out of his daze and he looked up to see Alfred standing above him, concern in his eyes.

"Sorry," Matthew said, brushing at the wetness in his eyes. "I was just daydreaming."

Alfred, wisely, didn't comment on his brother's tears. "I brought you coffee."

He sat down next to Matthew, who gratefully accepted the cup of caffeine. The purple-eyed man ignored the burning in his throat as he drank what to his tired body was liquid gold. The two brothers sat in silence for several minutes, watching the slow rise and fall of the chests of the two former empires sleeping before them.

"You think we should move them?" Matthew asked at last. "I mean, Arthur can't be comfortable sleeping like that."

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Alfred cracked a smile and let out a low laugh. "Nah. It'll be funny when they wake up."


	32. War On Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Matthew's love for hockey turns him into a total BAMF.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! We get to one of my favourite parts of 20th century Canadian History. That's why it took so long for me to upload this; I wanted to make sure that I did it justice. Also, shout out to my dad for helping me edit this chapter. He's much better at writing a hockey game than I ever will be and assured that things made sense.

It was really too soon for the memory of Prussia's cries of pain to disappear from their minds for the countries to laugh at the joke, though England did grumble a bit about "Bloody Frogs," and "Insolent colonies".

There was a slight moment of awkward silence as the nations watched Prussia out of the corner of their eyes, but when he didn't react other than blinking, they decided it was okay to continue on with watching the memories.

His breath hung in a puff of mist before him, combining with the clouds of others. Matthew fiddled with his red tie, the only part of his suit he'd allowed to represent his country. Now that he was here, though, and saw the apparel and costumes that his team's fans were wearing, he wondered if he was a bit underdressed for the occasion. Nevertheless, he smoothed the tie down and returned his attention to the arena in front of him. The shining ice emitted a familiar chill that warmed his soul. This is where he wanted to be, no better place in the world than a hockey rink.

All the hockey playing countries hummed in agreement, though Finland shrugged, "I don't know. I also like a cross country ski trail and shooting range quite a bit."

The Nordics shifted away slightly from the Finnish country, all of them remembering what had happened the last time they'd played paintball together. It had involved explosions, pink paint in unfortunate places, several bottles of alcohol, and five very drunk Nordic nations. They'd vowed never to speak of it again.

Maybe, Matthew mused, if they ever did get a vacation from all the wars and paperwork, he'd build a giant rink in his backyard and take the nations skating sometime.

Ethiopia tilted her head, "I think I would like to try this 'hockey' that you talk about."

He remembered when he was younger, the frozen ponds he would skate on with his mother and brother. They never had the idea of hockey, not even a prehistoric version of it; but the seed was planted, and for Matthew, it grew into a love for the game.

America snorted, "Yeah, dude, except for you it's something of an art form… or maybe a twisted addiction. I can't count how many hours you've spent outside on the rink practicing your slap shots, and that's only the ones I know of."

Matthew met the eyes of someone across the arena, someone else he knew who was also hell-bent on proving he was better at the game.

The cold eyes of Ivan stared back at him, as chilled and dangerous as the foggy ice that separated the two personifications. The Russian sat, like Matthew, next to a crowd of officials and important-looking people. As though he knew Matthew's eyes were on him, Ivan gave the small Canadian a psychopathic smile. Ivan knew he had the upper hand, both in points and the home-ground advantage. With three wins and a tie each under their belts, it really would come down to this final game. To Matthew, this was a war, and it was a war for which he was ready.

England muttered something like, "Idiotic sport...frozen...wasted military...ungrateful boy…", much to the amusement of the nations listening.

Unlike his brother, who was determined to end the Cold War in a nuclear arms race that would threaten the world, Matthew was content to play his part on the ice. For a long time, Matthew had to put up with other northern countries stating their claim over the game, but now was his chance to prove once and for all that the sport of hockey belonged to Canada.

"Debatable," America shrugged, "I win the Stanley Cup nearly every year."

Canada glared at him, "That's 'cause your teams are filled with _my_ players."

"If they're _your_ players, why are they on _my_ teams?" America stated smugly.

"That's only because-"

"Boys!" England snapped, cutting off Canada's protest, "If you're quite done…"

Though in retrospect, Matthew should have known that proving the game belonged to him would be harder than he thought. The first four games of the eight-part series, held on Canadian ground were, in Matthew's opinion, a complete disaster. With only one win and a tie, Matthew had remembered the booing of the Canadian crowd as Team Canada was jeered out of Pacific Coliseum in Vancouver in shame at the end of game four. Inwardly, Matthew agreed with the fans. His players really weren't playing their best in those games.

_Matthew stormed into the locker room, slamming the door behind him as he rounded on the hockey players, sitting heads-bowed on the benches._

" _Pardon my French," he growled, "but what the hell was_ that _?"_

France frowned, "I'm pretty sure that wasn't Francais."

Canada hid a grin, "It's just an expression, Papa."

"Well, it's a stupid expression."

_Phil Esposito, who played the center position, raised his head and frowned, "Sorry, Matthew, but we really did try our best."_

_The other players nodded in agreement, not meeting Matthew's eyes. The cold point of anger behind Matthew's eyes melted and he sighed, "Alright. But don't let it happen again." He was almost out the door, before he stopped, "Sorry about the fans, by the way. I'll see what I can do, but a lot of hope is riding on you guys."_

Despite the negative emotions that memory inflicted, Matthew let a small smile cross his face as he remembered the Canadians' change of heart in the latter half of the Summit Series. The confused and startled expression on Ivan's face when Matthew's players had walked off the ice in defeat to cheers and the fans singing 'O Canada' despite their loss had been _priceless_.

"You should have snapped a picture and texted it to me!" America moaned.

"They didn't have cell phones back then, America," was Canada's slightly exhausted reply.

"Dude, that's not the point!"

Prussia, though still slightly rattled from the memory of his desolation, snickered quietly.

With game six and seven belonging to Canada, the teams were tied with each having three wins and a tie to their names.

Now, in Moscow's Luzhniki Ice Palace at the heart of the Soviet Union, game eight was the climax of the series, a game that would prove once and for all who the game of hockey really belonged to. This far into the series, all rules had been thrown out the window and the true colours and desires of the teams shone through without anything to block them. Matthew remembered one of his players targeting the ankle of a Soviet player, causing a fracture in the bone. He also remembered, with a hint of a smile, Ivan's refusal at Team Canada's gift of a totem pole to represent goodwill and a player named Eagleson stating that they "were going to take this totem pole and bring it to center ice and they'll have to take it or skate around it the whole game", which was exactly the kind of attitude Matthew currently had.

Canada grinned. Nothing like a round of hockey to get the blood pumping.

Now there were ten minutes of play left in the game and tensions were running high. Matthew could feel the anticipation and exhilaration of his countrymen coursing through his veins. His eyes met Ivan's across the ice and he gave a feral smile. At that moment, Cournoyer took a shot at the net and scored, and Matthew broke eye contact with his opponent to jump in glee.

"WOO HOOO!" America threw his fist in the air before thrusting his finger in Russia's direction. "Canada is _totally_ owning you, dude!"

Before Russia could reply, however, England socked Alfred around the head and chastised him for interrupting, _again_.

The man next to him, the coach for Team Canada, slugged him in the arm with a grin. Matthew was just about to reply with a smile when he noticed the absence of the goal light. The smile slipped from his face as he looked to the goal judge and his refusal to move to put on the goal light despite the puck clearly crossing the goal line and bouncing off the back of the net.

Sounds of protest and anger were heard coming from the watching countries.

He met Ivan's gaze and the Russian gave him a childlike smile and Matthew's face broke out in a rather uncharacteristic look of rage, "You mother-"

The rest of Matthew's stream of curses was lost in the crowd's uproar.

Canada blushed under the disbelieving stares he was getting from the other countries but held his head high as he stated, "It's hockey", like that explained everything.

Blood pounded in Matthew's ears as the crowd screamed profanities at the judges and the Soviet team. Matthew couldn't remember being this angry since the World Wars nearly thirty years earlier.

Matthew grinned savagely as his players leaped over the boards, hellbent on getting at the judges, some of them having to be subdued by the police, others confronting the police and the Soviets with their sticks. Across the rink, Ivan smirked at him and Matthew could see the silent challenge in his eyes, but that smirk melted into a scowl when the goal light finally went off.

"Ha!" America barked. "That's what you get for cheating, Commie Bastard! We always win!"

"Da, you might have won this one, but don't forget the many defeats you suffered, Capitalist Pig," Russia growled.

Matthew whooped once, his cry of elation lost amongst many others. They were tied! Now all he had to do was get one more point, or the Soviets won by goal differential.

"We might actually win this thing," the coach whispered in awe next to Matthew.

Matthew grinned, "Was there ever any doubt to begin with? This _is_ Canada, after all, and it _is_ hockey."

But his hopes were soon dashed when it came to the last minute of play and the teams seemed evenly matched. Matthew looked up to the clock that was counting down the seconds much too quickly for his liking and bit his lip in thought, "Put Henderson on."

"What?" the coach asked, "I mean - I know he's good, but there's only-"

"Put him on," Matthew said with more confidence this time. Something about Henderson struck him as odd - in a good way. Perhaps it was the fact that Henderson was not considered a star, yet he was playing well, having scored quite a few goals and adding many assists in the Series so far. Maybe it was his speed that could be crucial in the final seconds of the game. Whatever it was, it rubbed off on Matthew a feeling that if they didn't put in Henderson for those final seconds, they'd regret it forever.

The Team Canada coach gave Matthew one last apprehensive look and caught Paul Henderson's attention on the bench. Matthew watched as Henderson gave an affirmative nod to his coach and leaped over the boards, skating towards his teammates so quickly it looked as though he was flying. The puck was exchanged rapidly back and forth so many times, Matthew lost track of it. He could hear the announcer's voice rising in excitement with every passing second and that did nothing to quell the anticipation and anxiety coursing through his veins.

"Cournoyer has it on that wing. Here's a shot. Henderson made a wild stab for it and fell," The announcer reported and Matthew felt his heart leap into his throat. What if they didn't win? It was definitely close enough that there was a possibility.

"Here's another shot. Right in front." Matthew's eyes widened marginally as he saw what was going to happen a split second before it did. "They score! _Henderson has scored for Canada!_ "

Canada whooped in excitement much like his younger self, but this time was joined by several other countries who clapped him on the back in congratulations.

The buzzer went off and there was an explosion of sound the moment that puck went in. Team Canada pushed open the bench doors and skated towards Henderson and their teammates whom they buried under a pile. Matthew screamed in excitement and let out a laugh, running his hand through his messy hair. They'd done it. With thirty-four seconds left in play, Team Canada had won! Matthew ran out onto the ice to join his team and their coaches as they celebrated the win of the century.

Hungary snorted in amusement, "Did you conveniently forget the World Wars?"

"No," Canada said like he was stating the obvious, "But this is _hockey_."

Embraced in the arms of his team, Matthew looked up at the stands. His fans were screaming and crying, and generally annoying the Soviet officials. His gaze fell upon crimson eyes and he held the albino's stare. Gilbert grinned at him from the Soviet side of the stands, giving him a wink that conveyed several mixed messages that Matthew did _not_ want to try to decipher at that moment, before his face fell back into the carefully constructed emotionless mask of polite disappointment that was expected as the representation of East Germany.

France looked at Prussia suspiciously, before tugging Canada closer to him.

Matthew grinned one last time and set off towards the stands where his kids were waiting. They would definitely be celebrating when they got home. However, Matthew was stopped one row from his kids by the exit of the Soviet team. At the end of the line stood a large figure clad in a tan overcoat. Matthew tapped Ivan on the shoulder and stuck out his hand, "Good game. You really had us going there for a minute."

The Russian gave a cold smile and shook Matthew's hand, "Likewise," before flooring Matthew with a vicious right hook.

Cries of outrage came from the countries, but Russia did not seem one bit ashamed of his past actions.

Matthew's head hit the floor hard enough for him to see stars. He sputtered for a moment on the blood dripping down the back of his throat from what was likely a broken nose, but soon regained his senses and felt an icy calm come over him. "If that's how it's going to be…" he grumbled before whipping his hockey stick out of nowhere and smashing it against the Russian's shoulder. His next swing was intercepted by Ivan's pipe and the two of them became locked in a sort of crude sword fight.

"It's more like an axe fight," Denmark mused. "You see, the difference is-"

Norway rolled his eyes, "Don't get started. No one cares."

People were now taking notice of their fight cheering them on. Matthew was pretty sure he heard one "Go Dad! Kick his ass!" and resolved to talk to Jack about his language later.

By the time the police had arrived and separated them, Matthew had a broken nose and a split lip and Ivan was sporting a nasty looking black eye. The two glared at each other as they were led away to their respective team's locker rooms. Emma bounced at Matthew's heels, blabbering about the game and wondering if he could get her Henderson's autograph.

"I want one too," Dawson chimed in, "Frederick said that people are already calling it the goal of the century and I want proof I was there."

The mention of the man and his defining moment in history made just a half-hour previously brought a smile to Matthew's face. For once, he'd done something his brother had never dared to do and he'd done it on his own. Holding a handkerchief against his bleeding nose, Matthew ruffled Dawson's hair with his non-bloody hand. "Sure, bud. I'll see what I can do." He winked at Emma and the rest of his kids who were looking at him with hope shining in their eyes.

Before going into the locker room, Matthew stopped in the door and took one last look out onto the ice rink where the impossible had happened. He felt a smirk spread across his face. Goal of the century indeed.


	33. Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew reflects on where he began and how far he's come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, folks. The final chapter! You guys have no idea how satisfying it is to be able to hit that 'complete' button. This chapter is dedicated to my friends and family who gave to their unconditional support and encouragement on this story. It's dedicated to all the kids at school who said I'd never make it this far: well you can kiss my ass. It's dedicated to my grade ten history teacher who gave me one of the lowest marks in the class about Canadian History: take that, sir! But most of all, this chapter is dedicated to my wonderful readers. You guys are the ones that motivated me to write this story, all 201 pages of it. Without your encouragement and enthusiasm, I probably wouldn't have made it past the first few chapters. I really owe everything to you guys. Thank you all so much. Anyways, enough of the mushy stuff. The title of this chapter came from a line in one of the songs in the 'Hamilton' soundtrack, called 'The World Was Wide Enough.' The line goes like this, "Legacy. What is a legacy? It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see." I feel like this is the perfect chapter title because, at least in my opinion, that was Canada/Matthew's attitude in the story.

When Matthew was very young and still roamed a country largely untouched by European influence, his mother sat down one night next to the barely flickering campfire and pointed up at the stars.

"Wait a second," Spain said in confusion, "I thought we'd already seen this part of his history?"

All eyes turned to Canada, who shrugged and shook his head, apparently just as mystified as the rest of them.

Matthew remembers curling up against her warm form as the autumn night's chill nipped softly at his exposed skin, listening to her explain all the constellations and the Spirits that created them to him and his brother. While he was usually content to just sit and listen, Alfred, the ever curious being, always wanted to know more. This particular night, he pointed up at a star, one that shone with more of an unearthly gleam than the others. "Mamma, which one's that one?"

The faces of the older nations turned somber as they realized which star young Alfred was asking about.

Native America's face gained a melancholy look in the moonlight and her watery eyes reflected the dying embers of the campfire, "That is _wanihowin atâhk_ \- the lost star. To the humans, it's just another star in the constellation of the big bear and her hunters, but for us, it's where our kind go when we finally disappear. Your brothers, the Inca, Mayan, and Aztec Empires wait for me there, just as I will one day wait for you."

"Oh," Matthew had only ever heard stories of his brothers far to the south and had never met them. His mother didn't talk of them much save for the day when she came to him and told the two of them that their brothers were gone forever - the result of an evil, conquering empire.

Spain shifted uneasily, refusing to make eye contact with either of the North American twins.

He didn't understand the concept of their kind disappearing or what the star meant for them and clearly neither did Alfred, because his brother tilted his head quizzically, "So is it like, a place where we go to see each other?"

A tear slipped down Native America's cheek. She'd already lost so many of her children to the expanding imperialistic countries and knew that her and her sons were just living on borrowed time. She also knew that it would only be a matter of decades before someone came for the last of her kin. When that happened, Native America knew she would fade into the other realm, like so many Ancients had done before her. She knew Matthew and Alfred wouldn't understand the idea of fading permanently, having only seen death in the form of the prey the hunters brought back and even then they were told that it was all part of an endless cycle that would last forever, and so she was determined not to spoil their childhood while it lasted, "Let's not talk of such things." Her hand slipped down to stroke Matthew's hair as he leaned against her chest, "Have I told you two the story of how the stars came to be?"

And they spent the rest of the night not dwelling on things that could have been but instead filling the air with the tales of their people, pushing the thoughts of what that star represented to the farthest edges of their mind.

oO0Oo

The months after his storebrors left were the worst in Matthew's young life, even worse than the day when he'd first been left by his mother as she ventured down to the land beneath Matthew's for the first time with Alfred. Matthew woke up to find her missing from the small camp they'd made and remembers wandering the wilderness, calling her name, afraid he'd been abandoned. The overwhelming relief when she'd returned three days later had nearly crushed him and he'd run into her arms, crying and begging her never to leave him alone again.

Mathias, Lukas, and Berwald's departure evoked the same feelings within the small boy, though a small part of him told him that this time, no one was coming back to get him.

The three aforementioned countries seemed like they wanted to go and speak to Canada, but the purple-eyed boy gave them a look that said, _later_. It was probably a good thing that they didn't go near him, because France was standing beside his brother with a murderous look in his eyes.

They _left_ him, left him after promising to always come back. He stood on the beach every morning for five months, watching the sun come up over the ocean and waiting for that telltale sign of a red and white striped sail and a dragon figurehead to come out of the mist and bring him back to their homelands. It was only after the dawning of the sixth month that the crushing conclusion came to him. _They weren't coming back_.

Denmark winced.

After that realization dawned on him, he remembers stumbling back in shock, or as close to shock as a two-year-old could have, and sprinting up the hillside and into the woods, sobbing all the way back to his mother's camp, where he found solace in her arms. For three weeks after he finally came back to them, Alfred made a point of keeping him close at all times, as if to prove to Matthew that _he_ wouldn't leave, unlike those strange men who'd come into his life and then left without warning. 'As if he ever need to prove that,' Matthew thought as Alfred drew his arm back to throw his spear farther than Matthew in a game the two were playing. No, Alfred was a better brother than _they'd_ ever been.

American put a hand on Canada's shoulder in silent reassurance and thanks.

But even that couldn't shake the hope that lingered in the back of his chest, right behind his heart. A hope that was both amplified and dampened whenever he looked at his knife.

If it was possible, that statement made the Nordics feel even worse. The knowledge that he'd kept the knife, hoping it might bring them back, hurt the northern nations more than the others knew.

oO0Oo

Matthew can remember when Francis took him back to his homeland for the first time, remembered the utter _strangeness_ of the city he'd beheld when he'd first gotten off the giant ship. The trees, rivers, and animals were gone. In there place were large structures unlike anything Matthew had ever seen before and sounds that replaced the bird calls and the wind rustling the leaves in the forest.

"It was so strange," Canada recalled, "None of it made any sense in my mind."

America hummed in agreement, remembering his colonization by England.

He can remember trying to board that boat back to his land and escape that city where everything was so _alien_ that it hurt his head to think about it. Francis caught him, of course, right before he was about to make his way up the gangplank and dragged him back to his house by the collar of his shirt.

Prussia, though oddly subdued since the memory of his dissolution, snickered despite himself at the mental image it invoked. For some reason, it was Simba from the Lion King when he was being carried by his mother that came to mind.

A shirt, Matthew had noticed right away, that was made with a material unlike anything he'd ever worn before.

"Okay," Austria said in confusion, "Seriously, what's going on?"

Canada furrowed his eyebrows, before a thought dawned on him, "I think we're in my memories."

Romano rolled his eyes, "We already _knew_ that, idiota. What do you think we've been watching for the past couple hours?"

"No," Canada shook his head, "I mean these are the thoughts and memories of my past self, the one we're watching right now."

"Wait," America held up a hand, "Are you saying that we are watching the memories of the memories we're watching?"

Canada shrugged, "I guess so."

America blinked, "Dude, that's some confusing stuff right there. It makes my head hurt."

"That's called thinking, wanker," England scoffed, "Of course it makes the heads of people with limited brain power hurt. It's going into overdrive and soon we'll be able to smell smoke."

It took Matthew several weeks to settle into life at Francis's home in Paris. By that time, he'd learned enough of the language that was not one of his native tongues _or_ Norse to carry a conversation with his big brother. It was also around that time he found himself terribly homesick and missing his family and familiar way of life.

"Papa?" Matthew tugged on the tail of Francis's fancy coat to take his attention away from the official he was talking to.

Without giving the important-looking official a second glance, Francis whirled around and swung Matthew up into his arms, "Un moment," he told the official before turn all his attention to the child he held in his arms, "Matthieu? What's wrong?"

"I want my brother."

Francis frowned, "I'm right here, mon petit."

"Not you," Matthew shook his head, "I want Alfred."

"Who is this _Alfred_ , Matthieu?" Francis was looking more confused by the second, and that's when Matthew remembered he hadn't _told_ his colonizer he had a brother.

"He looks like me, but has blue eyes. He disappeared from our camp a year ago, saying that a green-eyed man had come to take him back to his homeland."

Francis sucked in a breath, "Did he know who the man was?"

Matthew shook his head again, "The only thing he said in the letter was that the man's name was Arthur and that he was like us."

The following curses that came out of Francis's mouth were words that Matthew was sure his mother would have told him never to repeat, "That man is my enemy," Francis said with a low growl, "You are not to interact with Alfred while he is under Arthur's rule. No exceptions," he added when he saw Matthew begin to protest.

"France!" Ukraine chastised, "He's just a child!"

France shrunk away from Ukraine and a very upset looking Hungary who was twirling her fry pan like she was contemplating hitting him with it again.

And just like that, Matthew decided he hated the man holding him. He wanted his storebrors back. _They_ hadn't forbidden Matthew from leaving their settlement and interacting with his mother and brother during the time the vikings stayed.

Denmark felt his chest puff out slightly in pride at Matthew's loyalty to them, but it soon deflated when he remembered what that loyalty had cost.

Tears forming in his eyes, Matthew wiggled out of Francis's grasp and dropped to the floor. Matthew's face contorted in rage and pain and he yelled at his papa in his native tongue before leaving, but not before kicking Francis in the shin.

Germany cocked an eyebrow in amusement, "Vhat is it vith jou and kicking people in zhe shins?"

Canada grinned despite his blush, "I don't know. Maybe it was because it was the only limb my short legs could reach?"

Then he ran from the room before Francis could call after him. He didn't want to stay in this strange land any longer.

oO0Oo

For the first few weeks after becoming Arthur's colony, Matthew was wary around the man. He didn't know how to differentiate what was fact and what was lies that Francis had fed him to keep him out of his enemy's clutches. Arthur certainly was an intimidating man, despite his small stature. Those emerald green eyes that could go from calm to cold in seconds seemed to hold everyone on the ship in check even though he wasn't the commanding officer of the vessel. He had an air about him, one that made you think of stormy seas and kingdoms in ruin, of dark magic and forgotten forest hollows. Matthew really wasn't sure what to make of him.

It was around the halfway point in their journey to Arthur's land that Matthew first got a glimpse of the man beneath the tales Francis had told him. There had been a storm the night before - not a bad storm, just enough that the air smelled of lightning and the echoes of thunder rolled through the grey expanse of sky. Matthew was hauling cannon balls back to the places from which they had escaped, silently observing the men on the ship with him. The ship was a military vessel and at the age of thirteen, Matthew was the youngest aboard by many years. As such, he was reluctant to take part in their socializing after hours and mostly kept to himself in his quarters, except for meals, which he ate quickly before retreating to him room once more. The ritual was broken the day after the storm when the captain of the ship stormed into his quarters and told him that if he wanted to earn his keep, he'd have to help organize the scattered contents of the ship.

A few countrie frowned at the treatment of a colony by a human, but England shrugged, "There's a hierarchy on a ship and every man aboard must pitch in. He'd make an awfully rubbish sailor otherwise."

At least, Matthew mused with a dry smile, he didn't have to climb the mast and repair the sails. He really didn't fancy being up that high so far from his country when he wasn't sure how his healing powers would work on foreign land. Or lack of land.

By the time all the cannon balls and their cannons were secured back in place, Matthew's fingers were numb from the wet cold and he was shivering.

"Vee~" Italy said, tilting his head in confusion, "But thought you liked the cold?"

Canada snickered quietly, "If you came to my country, you'd understand that there's a difference between being cold because of the temperature and being cold because you're wet. I really _don't_ like being wet and outside. I've fallen into too many streams and lakes in the dead of the winter to known that for certain."

His land still hadn't recovered from the war and that was affecting his physical state and his ability to adapt. Matthew tried to tuck his hands under his arms in an effort to dry them, but to his dismay, his only pair of clothes was just as wet as his skin.

"You didn't let him grab clothes before he left?" Ireland asked, slightly shocked at his little brother's behavior.

England turned his nose up, "Of course not. Those clothes were of _French_ design and besides, the ship was leaving too soon to go back and get them."

Matthew shivered again and began making his way to his room, trying to stop his teeth from chattering, where he could hopefully burrow under the sheets of the bed and get warm again. He only got past the galley when he felt something heavy settle around his shoulders. Blinking in bewilderment, Matthew ran his fingers over whatever was resting on his back and realized it was a warm woolen blanket. He blinked again, his face tilting up to meet the green of Arthur's eyes.

"Come on," Arthur held out a hand, motioning to the galley behind him and, after a moment's hesitation, Matthew linked his own small damp palm in Arthur's, "There's hot food and it's warm there. I'll see if I can find any clothes for you to change into, too."

It would take Matthew many months before he started fully trusting the man before him, but it was a start.

oO0Oo

The bright spring sun shone down upon the colonies sitting in the field behind Arthur's manor. They were taking advantage of the rare bout of sunshine and warmth to spend the day outside and Matthew was teaching the younger children how to whittle ornaments out of wood blocks like he did with his people when he was little. Matthew breathed in the smell of flower blossoms blooming in the countryside and tried to ignore the stabbing twinge of pain over his heart whenever he moved his chest. Despite the medication he'd been putting on it and the regular trips to the doctor since he'd returned from the war in his country, the burn stretching across his collarbone and upper chest refused to lighten in colour or heal completely.

A few glares were shot at America.

Matthew dug the knife more forcefully into the wood he was whittling, biting back a curse when it skidded off the block and skinned the side of his thumb. "Damn," he hissed, watching the skin heal up over the cut before his eyes.

A cough caught his attention and Matthew looked up to see the eyes of every colony on him. "What?" he asked, "Do you need help?"

"Are you okay?" Jett asked hesitantly.

Bewildered, Matthew blinked a couple times, "Yeah? It was just a cut and it's already healed."

"You know that's not what we mean," Toby spoke up, "We all saw you wince just now."

Matthew's mood immediately tumbled into something darker, "I'm fine."

Jett sat forwards on the rock he was seated upon, "What _happened_ there? What did you do? What did Alfred do to _you_?"

Matthew could see Toby trying to cut Jett off before he said it, but the damage was done. The green hillside filled with wildflowers and tree disappeared. He could smell the scent of burning flesh in his nose and could heard Alfred's agonizing screams as pain so great surged through his chest that even his unconscious state couldn't prevent him from feeling it.

Both Canada and America winced as they remembered the excruciating pain when the other had burned their capital.

The flickering flames echoed behind his closed eyelids and his breathing sped up when he remembered the wound he'd given his little brother.

Oh god. What had he _done_?

Bile rose in his throat and it was all Matthew could do to stop from throwing up as he scrambled away from concerned colonies, wide eyed and suddenly feeling very much his physical age. Boys of sixteen should be going to school or working in their family's business, not crippling the relationship between themselves and their siblings by permanently scarring the upper half of their brother's chest.

Canada refused to meet the gazes of the other countries, afraid of what he'd see there; pity, fear, revulsion?

"I've got to-" he made a vague gesture over his shoulder before sprinting into the woods, but even the embrace of the place that usually soothed his wounds and rocked him into a gentle sleep with its natural lullabies couldn't comfort him as he fell against a rock, tears burning at the corners of his eyes but not falling down his cheeks. Instead, Matthew curled in a ball against the side of the boulder, ignoring the protesting wound over his heart. He lifted his head to the sky, imagining his mother's disappointed face looking down at him and wondered if there would ever again make peace with Alfred - not as their countries, but as two brothers who had done horrible things to one another.

Matthew really didn't know if things would ever be the same between them again.

"Of course there would be," America said softly, pulling Canada in a quick hug, "We're brothers."

Canada smiled softly in his brother's arms.

oO0Oo

Completely exhausted from the London conference, Matthew didn't even bother to light the lamps in his bedroom before he flopped backwards onto his bed, fully intent on sleeping off the euphoria he was feeling from the Confederation. He loosened his tie and stretched out on the sheets, closing his eyes with a smile on his face. He was a country now. _Him!_ He could almost imagine his mother and brother crying in delight when they heard the news.

That was odd. Matthew felt like he could imagine their crying _way_ too vividly for it to just be his imagination. Had Alfred snuck into his room again? He sat up and fumbled for the lamp next to him and turned the knob until a flame flickered to life, casting light around the previously darkened room.

He saw nothing abnormal in the bedroom until his eyes landed on the corner opposite his bed, where a large basket lay. Matthew was pretty sure that the basket wasn't his. Cautiously, Matthew slid from his bed and approached the wicker bin, his footfalls lighter than snow. Very carefully, Matthew peered over the edge of the basket and did a double take.

Matthew rubbed his eyes to make sure he was seeing everything clearly. Four infants lay curled around each other, wrapped in blankets and sound asleep, though one of them was clearly starting to wake if the whimpers and other sounds escaping its mouth were anything to go by. Quickly, Matthew ran down the stairs and out to the front porch. Was he even in the right house? Surely the children weren't _his_ , unless he'd somehow adopted four babies while away.

America snickered quietly, remembering his own reaction to finding out he had states.

But sure enough, those were his house numbers on the door. Blinking back his confusion, Matthew hurried back inside to make sure the kids were still there and not a figment of his imagination. To his utter bewilderment, there they lay, the only difference being that one of the children was now awake. Carefully, so as not to disturb the other three sleeping infants, Matthew lifted the child awkwardly in his arms, realizing that the last time he'd held a child this age was before Alfred left and all of Arthur's colonies were small.

Several of those colonies, like India and Kenya, smiled silently at those memories. They remembered the North Americans vaguely from before Canada's Confederation and America's revolution.

The child was not a newborn, but a boy about two or three months old and Matthew was pretty sure he hadn't done _anything_ within that time frame to warrant the appearance of four children in his bedroom.

France wiggled his eyes at Canada, who blushed, "Not like _that_ , Papa."

The next thing Matthew noticed was the baby's appearance. Blond curls like Matthew's crowned his head and when he blinked open his eyes, green-blue orbs stared back at him. Instead of crying like he'd been doing moments before, the child cooed and tried to grab Matthew's nose in his pudgy fist. Matthew's attention was immediately drawn to the boy's wrist where two bracelets lay around his arm.

Shifting the baby so Matthew could hold him with one hand, he used the other to still the motions of the baby's arm to see the bracelets. He had to do another double take at what he found. Adorning the bracelets around the boy's pale wrist were the words _New Brunswick_ and _Frederick_.

Time seemed to still in Matthew's house. Why was this child wearing a bracelet that had the name of one of his new provinces on it? Quickly, Matthew deposited the child back into the basket - barely noticing that they were now all awake and watching him silently - and picked up the next child. This boy was also two or three months old, but unlike the other child, had red tuffs of hair and blue eyes with purple flecks blinking at him silently over top of a freckled nose. His bracelets read _Nova Scotia_ and _Oliver_. Matthew was really starting to panic now. Tucking 'Oliver' back into the blankets, he picked out one of the larger boys. Blond hair with Matthew's curl and blue eyes, his bracelets reading _Québéc_ and _Pierre_. 'Pierre' looked older than either Oliver or Frederick, probably about five months, and as Matthew put him back in the temporary cradle, he had a sinking suspicion of who he'd find next.

He was right when he picked up the next five month old boy to find smooth blond hair and forest green eyes staring back at him, but Matthew didn't dwell much on that as he hurried to check the bracelets this boy was wearing. Sure enough, this boy's bracelets sported the words _Ontario_ and _Jack_.

Matthew nearly dropped the boy back into the basket before standing back and observing the four infants before him. He ran a hand through his own blond curls in shock and confusion, "What. The. Hell?"

As if sensing their - what was Matthew to them? Father? Brother? Prison guard? - _caretaker's_ change in attitude, their faces scrunched up and they began wailing.

Spain couldn't hold in his laughter anymore and burst out in loud peals of laughter that caused everyone else to break down too. When they finally stopped several minutes later, Spain dried his tears and chuckled once more, "Man, amigo, I love your reaction to things. Why aren't you this funny at World Meetings?"

Canada shrugged, "You guys never notice me anyways, so what's the point?"

The laughter disappeared from the air as several countries frowned.

Matthew's eyes widened and he stumbled back a few steps, unsure of what to do. Were they hungry? Tired? Upset? Or were they just crying because they felt like it? He sushed them desperately and in a moment of weakness, ran to the desk in the next room. He hated having to ask his brother for help so soon after his Confederation and while things were still rocky between them, but he quickly penned a letter and sent it to Alfred's address, begging for help. It took a week for the reply to arrive in Matthew's mailbox, a week in which he felt like tearing his hair out with stress and worry. He spotted the cream coloured envelope right away and picked it out of the piles of other letters sent to him. When he broke the seal and unfolded the letter, he could tell right away that Alfred did not share the same concerns with him. His brother's laughing tone was written all over the letter, which Matthew skimmed before his eyes landed on one part in particular.

 _Bro,_ Alfred's handwriting read, _chill out. Those aren't random kids, they're meant to be there. They're the representations of your new provinces. They appeared to me after I got my independence and figured they'd appear after yours. If you need any help, shoot me a letter. I went through the same thing after my revolution, except I had thirteen! Anyways, congrats and all. You'll do great things!_

Something tight loosened in Matthew's chest. Alfred didn't blame him for the war and wanted to help him.

America tilted his head in confusion, "Dude? Why would I ever blame you for the war?"

Canada shrugged, "I don't know. I was young and afraid that you wouldn't want to be brothers after everything I did to you. I know better now."

America let out a breath of relief, "As long as you know."

He turned his head towards the babies, the four of them still lying in the basket he'd found them in, quiet for what seemed like the first time in a week, "Well guys, I guess I'd better get you a proper nursery. It looks like you'll be staying here for a while."

oO0Oo

It is in the twentieth century that things start to blur for Matthew. So many things of significance happened at the time that it was hard to set each event apart from the others.

The Empress of Ireland's sinking seemed to mark the point in the early twentieth century where everything went downhill from there. The one good thing that came out of it was saving Maria, who would grow up to have a happy family. In fact, one of her sons, a man called Matt Johnson, named after him, was in one of the navel regiments that escaped Dieppe without being captured. He'd seen the boy in the hospital and made a point to visit him, never introducing himself, but always keeping an eye out of him.

Italy smiled, "So the pretty bella had a son and she named him after you?"

"That's what he told me," Canada said, "Matt said he was named after the boy who'd rescued his mother in the Saint-Lawrence river and then had disappeared from the hospital afterwards."

"Vee~ That's very nice," Italy said, hugging Germany.

When the women of his country won the right to vote in 1918, Matthew remembers wishing that he was home with his children. He made a point to give Emma, Anne, Charlotte, and Hannah extra long hugs when he got back from overseas, so proud and happy that women were finally on the track to becoming men's equals, so happy for the opportunity given to his kids that he couldn't speak.

He'd watched the first Remembrance Day after the war ended as thousands of soldiers marched the streets of his country proudly and wished he could stand next to them and say, _look, your country fought for you just as you fought for him_. But he couldn't and every Remembrance Day afterwards, he watched from the sidelines as their numbers slowly dwindled.

Matthew remembers proudly standing with his countrymen in Parliament as the Statute of Westminster was passed, allowing the country of Canada a bit of freedom from the British rule. He was still part of the Empire, but it was a start.

The sight of the new flag flapping excitedly in the wind all around different parts of his country, be it the prairies of Manitoba or the icefields of the Northwest Territories, was certainly a sight to behold, Matthew thought. Gone was the red flag with the Union Jack in the corner and the shield insignia on the right. In its place, a red maple leaf on a white background between two red bars flew proudly everywhere a person could look. Matthew stared up at the flag and felt for the first time, he really was his own country.

When Expo '67 opened to celebrate the one-hundredth anniversary of his country's independence, Matthew, along with hundreds of his citizens, flocked to Montreal to enjoy the festival. It was there Matthew realized how much his country had grown in such a short time. By its centennial, Canada had gone from a Dominion with close ties to the Empire, to a country nearly fully independent, had gone through three wars - Boer War, Great War, Second World War - and won, and had been thrown in amongst a rapidly changing world and did not sink or even flounder, but _swam_.

One thing he does not remember much of is the October Crisis of 1970.

The smile slipped right off Canada's face and he glared at the ground, pulling out of France's grip much to the confusion of the countries watching.

During a time in which Québec tried to become its own country, things were bordering closer to a civil war than they ever had.

Canada received looks of sympathy from every country that'd ever had a civil war. He ignored them and glared at the ground, definitely ignoring France's worried glances when Canada wouldn't tell him what was wrong.

From what Matthew had been told - because he doesn't remember very much, only blurs of memories that didn't make sense and constant headaches - about those days, he would start speaking in English before ending the sentence in French, would constantly change his mind on whether or not he supported the Front du Liberation du Québec and would disappear for days at a time, before reappearing, pale and shaky.

Having a very good idea of what happened during that time, though the memories still stubbornly refused to come back, Canada shuddered.

What Matthew didn't tell his Prime Minister was that he remembered one of those times - remembered coming out of a fog next to the other members of the military, only to look down at the body of a captured man found in the trunk of a car and get a sinking suspicion in his gut that he _been_ there when the man was killed.

For the first time since Bloody Saturday, the military patrolled the streets of one of Matthew's beloved provinces, putting curfews in place and the War Measures Act had been invoked by his government. Pierre had refused to come out of his room, yelling at anyone in the house when they tried to approach. It was a horrible time in Matthew's history that he was so ashamed of.

It broke him even more to find out that Francis's country was behind it.

"What the hell, France!" Hungary yelled, whacking France across the head with her frying pan with a _CLANG_.

France looked confusion for a second, then his eyes widened in understanding and he murmured, "Vivre le Québec Libre."

"Yeah," Canada spat, "Thanks for that, by the way."

France looked like he wanted to make a move to apologize to Canada, but the glares of the other countries held him in place.

Matthew remembers standing along the streets of Toronto, watching Terry Fox, the man who'd lost a leg to cancer, run through Ontario on his goal to go from coast to cost, running a marathon a day, in an effort to raise money for cancer research. He also remembers sitting in front of the television and crying into his hands when he found out the twenty-two year old man had died, just a little more than two-thousand fifty-seven kilometers from completing his Marathon of Hope.

"But the people carry on his legacy," Canada said, still slightly irked by France, "Schools all across the country have Terry Fox runs and collects donations in his name."

The first time he'd heard "O Canada" sung officially as his national anthem as opposed to "God Save the Queen", he'd laughed with joy and proudly sang along.

When his Parliament won the right to solely change their Constitution, Matthew saw the pained smile on Arthur's face when they announced Dominion Day would become Canada Day and made a mental note to thank the man later. But for the moment, he was too caught up in the excitement of the occasion.

When he watched his pilots fly into an offensive mission in the Persian Gulf war, Matthew felt a bitter taste in his mouth as he realizes that it would be the first time since the Korean War that his country had engaged another in battle. He had hoped the peace would last.

Russia shook his head, "It never will."

On April 1st, 1999, Nunavut finally joins the country and their little family is complete. As Matthew stares down at the infant's sleeping face, he remembers a time when his oldests were that small and vows to be around to watch Adam grow up, a luxury that he was only allowed

In bits and pieces with some of his other children.

oO0Oo

Matthew remembers 9/11 more clearly than probably any other nation except his brother.

America tensed up and clenched his jaw as Canada moved to put a hand on his shoulder in silent support.

The world meeting was being held in Texas that day and everything was going normally. That is, until Alfred paused in his speech about heros at the podium,

"Ah, the irony," America grumbled bitterly.

causing several nations to shake off the stupor they'd fallen into. His blue eyes were wide with fear, confusion dancing within them.

Before anyone could blink and register what that might mean, Alfred screamed and collapsed onto the podium, sending both it and him toppling off the stage to the floor below. He writhed in pain and convulsed on the polished floor of the meeting room as blood began to pool around him from wounds hidden under his jacket. Matthew was among the first to react. Over-protective big brother instincts engaging, he ran to Alfred's side and held his twin close to his chest, trying in vain to stop the violent shivers that wracked his blue-eyed brother's body.

"Al!" Matthew cried, feeling around his jaw for a pulse. It was there, but beating too fast and too irregularly to be healthy. Matthew turned to the nations watching in shock, "Help me! Someone turn on the TV! Find out what's going on and call an ambulance!"

That set all the other nations off and they ran around the room, each scrambling to do _something_ that would help their fellow nations. Even Ivan, who was still hostile towards Alfred after the Cold War, brought a bottle of vodka to clean Alfred's wounds.

"Thanks, Commie Bastard," America mumbled.

Russia grunted in acknowledgement.

For a moment, Matthew was too caught up in trying to stop the bleeding coming from the two long strips of skin and muscle stripped from Alfred's back that he didn't notice the hush that had fallen over the countries at the meeting. After tying off the bandages around his brother's shoulders, Matthew finally looked up to see his friends looking in horror between the TV and the fallen country.

When his own eyes beheld the screen, even his hands paused. Buildings lying in ruins, people creaming, the World Trade Centers on fire and half collapsed.

America shivered and closed his eyes, but no one faulted him. Having to live through it once was enough.

Matthew stared in shock for a moment, unable to comprehend the sheer _scale_ of the disaster before his ears clued into what the newscaster what saying.

"-utterly decimated. And what of the planes still in the air? The United States of America has closed their airspace in the event of the four terrorist attacks on the country and-"

Someone switched off the TV and Lovino ran his hand through his hair shakily, "Shit."

That brought Matthew back to the present, "Someone get me a phone, _now_!"

He didn't yell it, but his voice held so much command in it that for once, nobody ignored him and less than three seconds later, a phone was being pressed into his hand. Aware of the blood that was now staining the phone and Alfred lying on his lap, whimpering in pain, Matthew dialed his Prime Minister's number.

He waited for what seemed like forever before the other man picked up. During that time, Arthur and Mathias had moved Alfred from his spot on the floor to a small couch in the room that would hopefully be more comfortable on his wounds.

"This is the Prime Minister of Canada speaking. How may I help you?"

Matthew's chest nearly exploded with relief. "Have you heard what happened in New York?"

A sigh over the other end of the line, "I heard. We're establishing a plan of action right now but before-"

Matthew cut him off, "There are still planes in the air and they need a place to land. I want to volunteer Canada."

"So that's why you needed the phone," Portugal said, finally comprehending.

There was a pause while the Prime Minister considered that, "The problem is, we can't let a plane land in a place like the Toronto airport while it could potentially have a bomb on it," And then came the part Matthew was dreading, "So instead they'll have to be rerouted to Gander, Newfoundland. It has the biggest airport for the smallest population. There'll be less sacrifices if those bombs do go off."

All the nations who didn't know what Canada had done turned to stare at the young country in shock, who hid his reddening face in Mr Kumajiro's fur.

Something heavy settle in Matthew's chest and he closed his eyes, "How many people?"

"Ten thousand."

Ten thousand people. Matthew couldn't ask that of them. Then his eyes settled on the prone form of his brother, curled in a ball on the couch while medics tried to put him on a stretcher. Matthew felt prickling in his eyes and hoped his people would forgive him it things went horribly wrong, "Give the go ahead."

"Thank you," America whispered to his brother, but Canada shook his head.

"Don't thank me, thank the people of Gander. They're the one who sacrificed almost a week to the plane-people. I gave the order, but they carried it out to an extent ever I couldn't have imagined."

As Alfred was carried away, Matthew buried his head in his hand and hoped that things wouldn't get any worse.

oO0Oo

Matthew proudly sported a rainbow flag the day same-sex marriages were legalized in Canada, so happy that his citizens could now love whom they wanted without fear or oppression. He knew things wouldn't become perfect for a long time, but it was a major step forwards and for now, he was content to leave it there.

Three years later, his Prime Minister gives a formal apology for the treatment of Matthew's people in the residential schools meant to assimilate the Indigenous children into 'white Canada'.

Canada winced and didn't meet anyone's eyes as they looked at him questionly.

Nothing would ever erase the stain of that cultural genocide on Matthew's history, but it was proof that things were slowly getting better. He wondered what his mother would say if she could see what he'd done.

This time, America didn't know what to tell his brother or how to comfort him.

oO0Oo

On the streets in front of Parliament hill, people gathered, waiting and watching for the first of the fireworks to light up the sky in red, greens, and golds. No matter their ethnicity or culture, they stood next to others, quietly conversing with strangers whom they'd only met moments before, most dressed in the _Canada 150_ shirt with a maple leaf made of a crystal-like design. There was a silent buzz of anticipation, knowing that this year's fireworks would surpass all others.

Slowly, a small smile spread across Canada's face as he remembered his one-hundred fiftieth anniversary. That birthday had been the best yet. His family hadn't remembered, but that was alright, he was used to it. And besides, his citizens more than made up for it with their enthusiasm.

Matthew could see Adam toddling around after Hannah and Edmund as they chased each other around the grass and masses of people. Jack was sneaking up on Pierre and Dawson, trying to overturn his bottle of water on their heads. He was successful and soon joined Hannah and Edmund in the race around the hill in an effort to get away from his brothers, cackling with laughter all the time. John sat next to him, hugging a stuffed Newfoundland Retriever dog and quietly looking up at the sky, and though the stars couldn't be seen with all the light, he seemed content just to sit and watch.

Peace, Matthew realized as he sat atop Parliament Hill, watching his kids play on the slopes below, was his legacy. He'd left the Empire peacefully, not through war and revolution, but had waited until he was more of a burden then he was of use before proposing a compromise that slowly spiraled into him becoming his own country that would one day be known for its multiculturalism and acceptance. Just like Prussia was known for its warmongering and Ancient Rome for its Imperialism, Matthew's country would be known for its peace for a longtime after he faded, despite the dark spots in his past. He wasn't naïve, he knew his country would disappear one day and he would go with it, be it in ten years or a thousand.

"Jou better not disappear anytime zoon, Birdie," Prussia said, winking, "I'm counting on jou."

But as Matthew observed the streets below full of citizens celebrating the one-hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the Confederation, he realized that if this was his legacy, if peace was what he'd be known for, then he could come to terms with it.

Yes, Matthew mused and sipped his coffee, watching as the first of the fireworks exploded in the inky expanse of space, that was a nice legacy to have.

oO0Oo

The nations blinked as the mindscape faded around them and the meeting room slowly came back into focus. Where they were standing before, they were now sitting back in their chairs. There was silence for a few moments as the nations processed what they'd seen over the course of several hours before a low murmuring overcame them as they started talking amongst themselves. But for once, Canada wasn't ignored. Instead, he _was_ the focus of the conversation, the nations analyzing what they'd learned of both Canada's history and Canada himself.

To his surprise, Canada found himself approached by countries, some of whom he'd barely spoken to before outside of the usual curt greeting, all wanting to know more about certain chapters in his life they'd witnessed. He was feeling quite overwhelmed, until Sealand tugged on his sweater sleeve. "Canada, can you tell me the stories that your mother taught you?"

"Sure," Canada bent down and ruffled Sealand's blond hair. When he stood up, he was surprised to see several other nations looking at him with interest, "Um - if you want, I could tell to you guys too."

When Sealand sat down in front of him, others followed suit, waiting for him to start the stories. Canada blinked, unused to this kind of attention, but he soon adapted and smiled.

Despite everything that had happened, Canada was glad he'd decided come to the World Conference that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But when you’re gone, who remembers your name? Who keeps your flame? Who tells your story?"
> 
> -The World Was Wide Enough (Hamilton: An American Musical)

**Author's Note:**

> How does one italicize on this website? As soon as I figure it out, I'll go back and change the formatting. Sorry about that.


End file.
